Thoughtcrimes: Manipulation
by reen212000
Summary: His capacity for memory could be dangerous. Did Agent Brendan Dean witness something he shouldn't have? Can Freya save him in time?
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I have posted this on the She Knows All group on LJ as Mind's Eye. A wee bit cliched, yes? So, it's been retooled, and changed. Love this movie, and kinda hope that there could be another little movie sometime in the future. When Joe isn't battling Wraith, I guess...

These characters aren't mine, but oh! the possiblilites!

Chapter 1

Brendan Dean sat at his desk, typing, amazed as always, how months of endless research and planning could lead to one moment. The moment passes, congratulations are handed out, then back to the office to fill out endless amounts of paperwork. Rubbing his tired eyes, he glanced over at the clock. _Three in the morning?_ He retraced his steps, remembering what had led up to this impossible time of night. Passing a hand roughly over his face, Dean silently hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt.

"Well, maybe you should go home, Agent Dean," said a voice from behind.

Brendan nearly covered his start, but not the stuttering of his heart. "Hey, Doctor Welles." He drew a quick calming breath. "I could say the same thing to you. It's three o'clock in the morning."

But the doctor said nothing. Michael Welles stood, with his hands, as always, in his pockets, and a wry smile. Instead he said, "And your reason is –?" Welles already knew what the agent would say, but talking seemed to put the younger man at ease.

"You know how it is; there's no point going home now." _Forty-five minutes to get home, then an hour of tossing and turning..._

Welles smiled wistfully, remembering days gone by. "I don't have your wherewithal, Mister Dean. Those days of sleeping in my car are over; my back can't take it." Then turned to leave, hoping that Brendan would walk out of the office with him. _No one should be at work after five, right?_ But the agent stayed seated, chin resting on hand.

Brendan watched him go, wondering briefly about the esteemed doctor's past. He still was not sure about the doctor's ties to the NSA, only that Welles had gone out of his way to recruit him. Always having the Director's ear, Welles seemed more the Devil's advocate than a resource for employees of this think tank. Now, he recruited Freya MacAllister, not just for her mind, but what she could do with it. _Telepaths are still science fiction to me,_ Brendan thought. But she had proven herself, time and again, to be a worthy agent-in-waiting.

After catching himself dozing a third time, he stood, and decided to take a walk. Once outside, the chilled air renewed his spirit. _A little colder than I thought,_ he said to himself as he paced the dark, non-descript entrance. He walked briskly to a small park nearby, and found his favorite bench thankfully free of transients. At this hour, Brendan surmised, there shouldn't be any problems. Letting the cool air relax his tired body, he watched the clouds drift across the moon, and cars speed by, and various people staggering home or elsewhere.

As his eyes drifted over the park, he spotted some activity. A figure detached itself from the shadow of a tree as a long black car drove up and parked. _Man, I hope this is not a bad thing._ After all, he and his team just put eight people in custody for arms dealing. Scanning the park, Brendan searched for a vantage point. _Can't take the agent out of me for even a second!_ He moved quickly to the shadow of a tree, watching.

Under the dim light of a nearby street lamp, a young, well-dressed man stood still at the curb with his hands at his sides. He seemed as though he wanted to put them in his pockets, as he kept reaching for them. He stiffly bent to speak through the partially open window. After a moment, passenger doors opened, emitting two more young, well-dressed men. One had hair almost as pale as his skin in the moonlight; the other had dark hair. The first man reached slowly into his jacket, extracting a slip of paper. Brendan watched the dark-haired man closely as he snatched the paper out of the other's hand. Dark Hair nodded to White Hair, and the trunk came open. White Hair held a flashlight, shining it inside the trunk.

Scanning the park once again, Brendan moved quickly to the next tree, thankful that the moon was setting, making him less noticeable. Laying stiff cold fingers against the rough bark, he closed his eyes to concentrate on their voices. However, they said nothing; the transaction continued silently. Opening his eyes, he watched a duffle bag being lifted from the trunk. Brendan thought suddenly, _Why am I here? I don't need more paperwork. What the hell is going on here?_ But curiousity kept him rooted to the spot.

Dark Hair handed the duffle to the first man, letting it slip from his fingers. _Don't fall for it!_ Brendan silently warned. But the man, not having Freya McAllister's thought-reading abilities, fell for the oldest trick in the book. White Hair came up behind the kneeling man, clipping him just below the ear. He went down, but was still conscious.

Brendan reached for his weapon, still not sure what was going on with this odd meeting in the dark. Then, from the open door of the car, female laughter drifted out. "... I got it all!" she triumphantly said, as the Dark Hair and White Hair raised the other man off his knees. He rubbed his head. "Not so hard next time..."

Then man with white hair briefly stared in the direction of Dean's hiding spot. He can't see me, right? But there was something about his manner that made the agent shudder. Finally, he turned his attention to his friends who were now laughing. "No one saw us, man," someone said. "Don't worry about it." Climbing into the car, they sped away.

Cursing himself for watching this piece of bad melodrama, the agent took a deep breath and leaned against the tree, filing away the whole scene in the back of his mind. Gazing up at the lightening sky, he sighed greatly, and walked towards the office with a new resolve to finish his paperwork. However, he wasn't sure he'd share this incident with anyone. Maybe Freya, but at least she could just read and see his thoughts. The teasing would be nonstop from Merriweather.

-----------------

Freya McAllister came into the office building, boucing on the balls of her feet. She felt triumphant, invincible. Finally, she and her sister, June, were able to have an evening together without a single arguement. A huge achievement, considering their background. Freya hummed a little tune as she approached a cluster of desks, one currently serving as Brendan Dean's pillow. Leaning on the desk, she said loudly, "Mornin', Agent Dean!"

No response. _He sure is cute when he's asleep,_ she thought, then immediately banished the statement. After all she had been through, that should be the last thing on her mind.

Freya made a quick scan of his thoughts, as she called his name again. A car, a tree, and three figures in the dark appeared in her mind's eye. Perhaps he was dreaming about his last case? Reaching over to give him a gentle shake, she said quietly, "Brendan, you should wake up now." This time, a low moan was her answer.

After another moment, his eyelids fluttered. He began to stir slowly, working out the kink in his neck. "What time is it?"

"Later than you think, Brendan." Freya sat on the edge of the desk. "You know, this is, like, the third time I've found you like this. Don't you have a home?" When he blushed, she gave him a winning smile and a pat on the back. "Was all that paperwork really so important?"

Brendan scubbed his hands over his pale face, and through his hair. "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time." He glanced quickly around the office._ No one here just yet. In that case..._

"This drawer," Freya said as she moved away from the desk. "Shirts in the bottom drawer, ties in the top."

"I know, I know..." He tried avoiding her searching eyes. "I know that, too," he said to answer her unsaid statement. "And, no, I haven't looked in a mirror lately."

She gave a quick laugh. "Are you reading my mind?" Moving away, Freya glanced around the office. "Well, your secret's safe with me. I'll make some coffee. And," she began, pointing at his chosen tie. "Don't ever wear that tie again. In fact, throw it away." Then she marched towards the small break room, laughing.

"What? This tie?" Brendan tried to look hurt as she berated his fat, outdated tie. "I thought maybe they'd come back in style."

"I agree, Dean. Get rid of it." Agent Merriweather appeared behind in front of his desk. Terri Merriweather looked a bit bookish, with her glasses, and smart suits. It surprised Brendan how young she was; Merriweather's crisp suits and wry demeanor made her years older. "For that matter, it's really time for a new pair of shoes." She gave a lopsided smile, and a wink then walked quickly to her desk. Naughty librarian at least, he thought, inwardly wincing as the image popped into his head. He sincerely hoped Freya did not see that!

"Is everyone going to come down on Brendan today?" He threw the tie back into the drawer, and pulled out another, along with an electric razor. Once safely in the restroom, he shook out the neatly folded and pressed shirt. _Gotta get to the cleaners,_ he thought absently. As he took off the shirt he was wearing, Brendan noticed his reflection. _Wow, I guess I do look bad._ A shadowed, unshaven face, and a sad smile gazed back at him. Splashing very cold water on his face, he dried and shaved quickly. A few minutes later, fully dressed, he tightened his tie and smoothed out his hair. One last glance in the mirror showed the same pale, tired face; only now, at least, it was shaven.

Brendan took a deep breath, ready for the beating he would take from the Director, Jon Harper. When he returned to his desk, he found a hot cup of coffee and a glazed doughnut. Glancing around the office, he spotted Freya, who was sporting a creampot smile this time. _Thanks. You didn't have to_, he thought, waiting for her response. Nice thing about having a telepath.

_You're welcome,_ she mouthed silently.

As he took a sip and a bite, Jon Harper breezed past him. "Agent Dean, I'm looking forward to your report." Brendan gave a little smile, wondering why he was so nervous. The bust went without a single hitch, thanks to his team's extensive research and preparation. _Don't forget to bring that out, Dean. Maybe somebody'll get a raise outta this._

Entering the small conference room, he took several deep breaths. Harper was a very intense, direct person; there would be no mincing of words. He gestured the agent towards a chair. "HQ commends the hard work your team put into this case. They say they have a solid case, and should have no problem convicting DeMarco and his accomplices. Nice job."

_Well, that wasn't so bad._ "Thank you, sir. Agent Merriweather found the last piece of evidence that allowed us to put everything together." _Was that enough?_ He ran through his memory for any other details.He remembered everything about the case from the beginning. The tip, the follow-up, the endless research. And one pesky little weapon that started it all. As the entire library of information flashed in his memory, Brendan closed his eyes briefly against the headache making itself known. When he opened them, he saw the director with a strange expression on his face.

Twitching his brows together, Harper folded his hands, placing them on the desk. "I've heard some things about you, too, you know. Just one more thing," he said quietly.

Brendan's heart stuttered. _What now?_ "Ask away, sir," he said, unsure of the outcome.

Harper gave a quick chuckle. Not often did he express any outward emotion, other than the utmost control. "I'm just wondering when was the last time you slept?"

---------------------

Freya sat at her desk, eavesdropping on Brendan's thoughts. She masked her actions by staring at a newspaper, occasionally flipping a page. In her mind's eye, she watched and listened to his thoughts as he remembered everything about his case. As he did so, the details became sharper, clearer, and sped by like a super-fast slideshow. But underneath it all, like a ghostly image hovering in the background, the image of a car, three men, and a park. Freya marveled how he was thinking about all these things at once. _How does he keep that memory in check?_

_:He uses a complex filing system. Are you spying?:_

Freya snatched her focus back quickly to cover her violent start as she dropped her newspaper. "Michael! I didn't see you there."

Michael Welles gave her the usual enigmatic smile. _You know me..._ He said aloud, "Keeping an eye on our agent?"

Freya smiled, this time, more than a little embarrassed. "You know me..." She saw a figure come towards a desk out of the corner of her eye. "Back so fast?"

Brendan sat down heavily at his desk, eyes closed. Resting his head in his hands finally, he opened them, looking directly at Freya. _Yes, yes, I'm going home._ He stood slowly, snatching up his overcoat. If he moved any faster, it was possible he would fall.

"Need a ride?" Freya asked, rounding her big, dark eyes at him.

He laughed. "From you? Do you even have a license?" Slipping on his coat, he bowed slightly. "No thank you. I'm relying on the fine public transportation provided by this fair city." He waved, nearly dropping the stack of files he carried. "See ya tomorrow." He turned on his heel and left.

_:No you don't have to follow him:_

_:Are you still here?:_ Freya sighed internally. _But I worry about him sometimes._

They both glanced up as Harper gestured Welles to join him. "Brendan will be fine." He paused before moving away. "I have an assignment for you. My office, fifteen minutes?" Then he was gone.

A little thrill traveled through Freya's spine. She enjoyed her new line of work, although she had missed a great deal of her life due to all that institution-hopping. Interrogating smug liars and criminals gave her a feeling of power, now that she had the upper hand over the voices. Then, there were those who could not speak for themselves. People so terrified, so traumatized by their experience; people injured and catatonic. There was so much information out there. So many lies and misdirection, so many plots and conspiracies, it boggled the mind. It was her job now to find the truth.

"I'll be there," she said quietly in the direction of Welles' back.

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How am I doin' so far?

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Please R&R! I'd love to hear what ya think...


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for reading. Please R&R!

I sure don't own these characters, but I will return them to their rightful owners after we play for a bit...

Chapter 2

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Ants.

They swarmed in and out of their anonymous building, distracted to the point where it is a miracle that this country stays as safe as it does. Agents scrambling around, thinking their secrets are safe. That they are safe. All the shadow organizations, all the half-truths and lies, things they will never in their wildest dreams comprehend.

All it takes is an anomaly in the form of a mutated human, and a lot of determination. Everything, no matter how safe it was deemed, was vulnerable. A slight misstep, a tangled word. The liar's world would come crashing down if one was unprepared.

He sat watching. Waiting. That person he saw in the shadows in the wee hours would have to be found, examined, and erased. There had not been enough time to reach out to that person's mind, but he had a feeling that shadow would emerge from this building. He opened his mind to every ant that left the building. Still nothing.

A pale, distracted man wandered down the stairs of the nondescript building. Closing his eyes, he reached out to caress the man's mind. _Ah! There it is. He_ was _in the park!_

Opening his eyes slowly, he moved fluidly, walking in the direction of the wandering man. Absently, he pulled out his cell phone. "He's moving now. No, not yet. I want to keep an eye on him for now." Closing his phone with a snap, he followed the man with mind and body, waiting for his chance.

-------------

Brendan moved among the crowds, lost in thought. Now that one case was finished, he could think about other things. He did wonder if what he saw earlier today was a hoax or not. Imagination failed him regarding the reasons for such a stunt. As he wandered off the train platform, he absently climbed the stair leading to the street, fantasizing about his bed and fluffy pillows. Then he suddenly stopped.

There on the front page of today's newspaper: Senator's Daughter Missing. Like a magnet, he came forward to the newsstand next to the subway entrance. Staring at the picture, he saw Senator Martin Bennett, his wife, Gloria, and according to the caption, Jessica Bennett's long-time boyfriend, Jason Blackwell. A dark-haired man stood further in the background, identified only as a 'close friend of the family.' "I know you," Brendan muttered under his breath. _The first guy I couldn't see, but you –_

"Hey, pal! This ain't no library!"

He was snatched from his thoughts by a harsh, heavily accented voice from behind the stand. Quickly digging in his pockets for change, he purchased the newspaper, along with all other local papers, to read each story. Reading as he walked, Brendan miraculously avoided bumping into anyone. Finally gaining entrance to his building, he awkwardly juggled newspapers and files as he opened the door to his home. He shoved aside stacks of books and files to make room for the files he carried.

Loosing his tie, he sat wearily in an armchair, finishing the article. Picking up the next newspaper, then another, until he finished all the articles. Resting his chin in his hand, he stared out the window. "That's not what I saw at all," he said aloud to the dying plant near the window. _Should I call someone? Later. What if it is a scam? What if it's not? Does it have anything to do with what he saw? Was the girl in the car the senator's daughter? _Closing his eyes, he shoved aside the headache that had plagued him for days, replaying everything he had seen in the wee hours of the morning.

When he opened them again, his apartment was very dark. After a moment of disorientation, he searched for a clock. _I have got to fix that VCR clock_, he thought briefly. He wandered into his dark bedroom, glancing at the illuminated alarm clock next to his untouched bed. _Maybe I'll talk to Freya first. Is she home? Should I call first?_ He reached for the light, then the telephone, immediately dialing her number.

"Hey, Freya. It's Brendan," he said when she answered. He wondered as he spoke if she could read thoughts over the telephone, too.

"No, Brendan. I cannot read thoughts over the phone," she said. Brendan could tell she was smiling through her amused tone. _Did I say that out loud?_ "You're so predictable, Agent Dean. Did you need something?"

"Yeah. Would you mind if I came over. I need to talk to you about something. Something I saw."

After a quick pause, she agreed. "Are you hungry? I'll order a pizza or something."

"See you soon." He hung up before she could respond.

-----------------

Thirty minutes later, Brendan arrived on her doorstep. When Freya opened the door, she was a little surprised at the specter standing there, with newspapers under his arm. "What happened to you?" she asked as he quietly stepped inside. "You did go home, right? What –"

He raised his hand to stop her questions. "It doesn't matter right now." Shoving the small stack of newspapers into her hands, he climbed the stairs slowly. "I think I may have seen something related to those articles."

Freya looked over the headlines, shuffling the newspapers. "Really?" When he didn't answer, she raised her eyes from the paper. He was pacing her living room, arms folded tightly across his chest. Touching his thoughts briefly, she saw the images again: Three men, a park, and a car. Why were these things significant? "Why don't you sit down before you fall down," she scolded. She watched as he sat down stiffly, glaring at her. "So, what do you need to tell me about?" At once, she was bombarded with his thoughts. Little by little, she dampened the input.

"Well, I think I saw the kidnapping. Actually, I'm not sure what I saw. But something happened in the park this morning." He rubbed his hand across his face then through his hair. "I just need a little clarity."

Freya sat down next to him, placing the newspapers between them. "What you need is a little sleep," she said directly. The doorbell chimed; she rose, hand on hip. "Food's here. I'll be right back. Take off your coat. Relax, okay?"

When she returned, he had not removed his coat, and his head was tossed back, resting on the sofa back, his arms loosely at his sides. _Asleep?_ She opened her mind once again, as she placed a slice on a plate. His thoughts were too jumbled to decipher, however, he wasn't asleep. "Hope you like sausage," she called.

"I'm not hungry. But thanks." He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.

Freya brought him a slice anyway. "One bite, and I'll tell you what I know about this case," she teased.

Brendan raised his head, then his brows. "What? You know something?" :_Were you reading my thoughts?:_

She smiled sweetly, then shook her head. "One bite," she said as she bit into her own slice.

Although food was the farthest thing from his mind, Brendan did as he was told. His stomach then warned him against further mutiny. "Okay, tell me what you know," he said quietly, placing the uneaten portion back on the plate.

Freya watched him closely; she didn't think it was possible for him to become even paler. "Michael let me question her boyfriend." With her free hand, she pointed to a picture in one of the papers. "I saw something similar to what you saw – a park and this guy – when I questioned him."

_:You were reading my thoughts! Oh well, it doesn't matter now.:_ "I've been replaying everything I saw this morning, but I can't come up with any more information."

She stood, taking the plates to the kitchen. "Maybe you're trying too hard. Seeing it so much, you're making yourself crazy."

A low groan came from his direction; his throbbing head was about to incapacitate him. :_Maybe you're right.:_ "I just can't think too clearly right now." He rose, pulling his coat tight around his body. "It's late. I'll see you tomorrow," he said, half-heartedly waving to her back. _Gotta go to sleep... _Stumbling away, his vision started to darken.

Freya caught him before he fell down the stairs. "You're not going anywhere, mister." Placing his arm around her shoulders, she guided him back to the sofa.

"Wha–? Where're we goin'?" he asked groggily.

"You are going to sleep right here." She let him slip from her arms down to the sofa. Removing his coat with only a little resistance, she threw it in the direction of the nearest chair. Placing a pillow under his head, Freya yanked off his shoes, instructing him to lie down when he tried to rise.

"Moving a little fast, aren't we?" Brendan was a little breathless. "You know, I'm not that kind of guy."

She laughed, despite her concern. "That's not what I heard." She tried not to look at his pale skin, or his flushed cheeks.

"Do not," Brendan pointed severely, "believe anything that Merriweather tells you." A sudden shiver traveled through his body. He closed his eyes as a spike went through his head. Feeling a warm hand on his cheek, he opened them. :_I swear, I'm not helpless.:_

Twitching her brows together, she looked into his bleary hazel eyes. "I know," she said quietly, smiling down at him. "Hapless, maybe. But not helpless." Freya reached over and ruffled his hair. "I'll be right back."

As he curled into a tight ball, Brendan watched her run to another room. She returned with a thick blanket, which she tucked all around him. He closed his eyes; the shivering subsided. :_Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Really.:_

She tsked at him. "Sorry. Can't help it. I'll get you some water and some aspirin."

A few moments later, he heard the telling thunk of glass on wood. Freya seemed to linger for another minute, then he heard lights being turned off. When he knew she was gone, he opened his eyes. Letting them adjust, Brendan reached for the water, taking a long swallow. His mind did not quite shut off, yet his thoughts quieted enough for him to attempt sleep.

Freya watched his thoughts. He appeared to be standing on a cliff, staring into an abyss. Then he fell, plummeting down into the darkness. Dream Brendan did not appear to notice his situation, judging by his calm demeanor. _Has he had this dream before? Or is he just in a deep sleep?_

Dream Brendan looked directly at her. "I said don't worry about me. And stop spying!" But he was smiling. _What's that mean? _Happily, he continued his downward spiral into the darkness below.

"Fine!" she said aloud.

_------------------_

_I _am_ dreaming, right?_ The falling dream was a common one, it usually occurred when he was exhausted. Was it his imagination, or could he sense Freya reading his thoughts? _Imagination, I'm sure._ Now he sat in a dusty corner of an empty building. _A garage?_ Somewhere, a door slammed, echoing through the empty space. His heart leapt into his throat, and he stood, pressing his body further into the corner. Footsteps sounded and echoed, slowly approaching him. It was dark now; he was getting cold. _Maybe I should go home now,_ he thought frantically. The slow footsteps stopped just beyond his vision.

"Hello?" _That wasn't his voice!_ At least not for many years. And this wasn't a dream – it was a memory. Now, Brendan definitely did not like where this was headed. He tried to wake up, but the footsteps began again, moving closer. _A door. There's a door to my left._ He moved quickly in that direction only to feel his body being lifted into the air. Someone held him tightly as they ran for the door. Somewhere in the darkness, a car was idling. Then the sound of the trunk opening. The last thing he saw was the full moon lingering over the shoulder of his assailant.

---------------

Brendan sat bolt upright, clutching the blanket that imprisoned him. Throwing the blanket off, he swung his long legs off the couch, planting his feet on the cool wood floor. After taking several deep breaths, he drew his knees up under his chin, hugging them tightly. He had not thought of that day in a very long time.

"Some dreams you got there, Agent Dean." Freya was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

_:Oh, great. No, I do not want to talk about it.:_

"That's fine. I forgot to bring your aspirin." After pointing to the tablets on the table, she turned to leave. A lightning bolt of thoughts stopped her.

_:No–:_ "No! Sorry." Brendan sighed wearily. "It happened a long time ago. Not something I care to share with anyone right now. No offense."

"None taken, Agent Dean. 'Night." Then she was gone.

Brendan reached over with unsteady hands, snatching the two tablets off the table, and drained the glass of water. After a moment, he pushed his hands through already unruly hair. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling until sleep claimed him once again.

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Okay, this is getting a wee bit cliché, but if I don't finish this, I may go mad... Sometimes it's best to press onward, no?


	3. Chapter 3

So here's a chapter finally. I've been so remiss in updating! Can't stop reading everyone else's fics... I'll try to do better next time, promise!

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Chapter 3

Freya awoke to glorious smell of fresh brewed coffee. Bouncing out of bed, she left her room in search of the caffeinated pleasure. "Hello?" she called out.

Brendan peeked out of the kitchen. "Mornin' sleepyhead." He was fully dressed, and cleaning her kitchen. "You have more gadgets than a department store."

"I see you found a coffee maker." She leaned against the counter, staring at his steaming mug hungrily.

He slit his weary green eyes suspiciously at her. "Didn't even know you had one, did you?" Smiling, he poured a mug for her.

Over the rim, she watched him closely. Still so pale, and he seemed content avoiding all instances of last night. He wasn't even thinking about it at the moment. "That by far, is the fanciest beverage-makin' machine I have ever seen. Just when I didn't think it would talk to me, it did!" He feigned a round-eyed look of astonishment.

Freya playfully slapped him on the shoulder. She set the mug down, then hopped on a stool. "You coming in today?" She was really hoping he would give her a story about lounging around the house in a mumu, or something.

Brendan gave an unsure smile. "Of course. Why not?" He carefully folded a towel, laying it gently on the counter. "I know I'm supposed to stay home, or whatever. But I figure someone should know about what I saw yesterday." Looking directly at Freya, he now wore a bemused expression. "Thanks for your help last night. I was a little out of it. I'm not sure what would've happened if I was on my own." He pushed away a thought from a similar night years ago.

She reached over, grabbing his hand. "Anytime, Agent Dean. But you could use some food and a whole lot of sleep. Why–" She was interrupted by her phone. Giving his hand a final squeeze, Freya answered the wailing phone. "Hello, Michael. Nope, I wasn't asleep." Listening intently, she slid from the stool and began pacing in a slow circle. "Really? FBI. huh?" She bit her lip, glancing up at Brendan. "Agent Dean may have some information to share with them..." Her eyes widened after a pause, flicking from her companion to the floor and back.

_She is so about to lie,_ Brendan realized, thinking about other times she'd lied. _Yep, same thing._

"As far as I know, he was staying home. I could give him a call – Okay. See you then." She closed her phone with a snap. "Shower?"

He laughed out loud, shaking his head. "You're kidding, right? You heard nothing this morning?" At her negative response, he continued. "I even washed my clothes. Used your hair dryer. Knocked over all those pretty things around your sink... Searched for coffee? Nothing?"

The telepath twitched her brows together, concerned. "How long have you been up?"

Brendan turned his attention towards the sink, and began washing dishes. "Ah. Well, the question is, when did I go back to sleep. Not to worry. I'm used to this schedule." :_If you keep worrying about me, you'll never get anything done.:_

She knew he was right; Welles had said the same thing once. Knowing he would dodge her questions, she gave up for now. Giggling, Freya jogged out of the kitchen. "Ten minutes, tops," she yelled over her shoulder.

Agent Dean allowed his brows to slide upwards, as he took a sip from his mug. _:Thirty. Don't even pretend.:_

_----------------_

Forty-five minutes later, they entered the small office of a non-descript building downtown. The trip there had been quiet as the agent next to her organized his thoughts. The complex filing system consisted of a long corridor of doors. Each one was significant to him, and had a different color. At random, they would switch places, probably in order of importance. Brendan was one of the most illusive persons Freya had ever met. Just when she thought she had a hold of him, Brendan's thoughts would slip right through some crack. When he wanted to, a shiny slippery wall would appear in her mind's eye. _How does he do that?_

As they came to their desks, Freya reluctantly allowed Brendan out of her sight while he caught up to Harper and Welles. Sitting at her empty desk, she fought hard not to check up on him. _He's right. I'll never get anything done._

"What's going on? I thought for sure Agent Dean was staying home today. He looks terrible." Terri Merriweather had magically appeared next to Freya's desk. _Am I that distracted?_ She never noticed when Merriweather was in the vicinity. Was this her ability, the reason she was brought to this special branch of the NSA? "Sorry. I do that to a lot of people," she said, adjusting her glasses.

Freya smiled sheepishly. "It's okay. I'm just distracted." She glanced quickly around the office. "You know that possible kidnapping yesterday?" When the agent nodded, she went on. "Brendan may have seen something."

"And the suspect you questioned yesterday revealed nothing?"

"That's the thing. He didn't seem to, just random images. Nothing concrete. Then I talked to Agent Dean. He saw the same people the suspect was thinking of when I questioned him." She glanced in the direction of Harper's closed door. "Brendan wasn't sure that his information would be of any help, but I'm glad he's telling someone."

Merriweather smiled thoughtfully. "I worry about him sometimes. He's like my kid brother, you know?" Then, as quietly as she entered, she drifted away towards her desk.

Freya watched her go, then broke her own promise of eavesdropping. She concentrated to find Brendan's familiar thoughts. He had provided all details, leaving nothing out. But there was something lingering in the background, nagging at his mind, begging for attention. The memory again with the garage, trunk, and the sound of footsteps.

Returning to his desk, Brendan sat down heavily. He glanced over at Freya, who was staring into space. _:Stupid headache. You know, you look a little crazy staring off like that.:_ He watched as she refocused her gaze directly at him. To his surprise, Brendan saw concern and a hint of anger shadow her face. "Yes, ma'am. I am going home," he said before she asked. Then, "No, you don't have to walk me home. And yes, I promise to avoid anything that looks like a kidnapping of any sort." Slipping into his overcoat, Brendan waved his good byes and left the office.

Hesitantly, Freya let him leave alone. _:He looks ill. Should I follow him?:_ She asked of no one, but hoped Welles was listening.

_:Go, if you like, but be careful.: _He _was_ listening!_ :Remember, he notices everything, faces especially. He _is_ one of the hardest people to follow, you realize.:_

_:Okay, okay. Be back in an hour.:_

She left the building, armed with an address, and the hope he'd be too tired to notice he was being followed. She watched him walk slowly through the small crowds of people rushing past on the sidewalk. To avoid a collision, Brendan nearly walked into a bench. She couldn't tell if it hurt, but it did make his progress even slower. She tried to focus on his jumbled thoughts, and saw a vivid memory of a bruised arm. From the direction of the image, he was looking at his own arm. Absently, he placed a hand over the phantom injury. He shook his head quickly and picked up his pace.

As she rounded the corner, Freya stopped short. Brendan had ducked into a deli. Waiting for him to leave, she stood at the corner as if to cross the street, hoping he wouldn't notice someone just standing there. He left the deli, clutching a white bag. _Well, at least he's eating_, she thought, relieved for some reason. Digging her hands deep into her pockets, Freya decided to follow from across the street. Glancing occasionally in his direction, she hoped he wasn't headed for his beloved subway. A lot harder to follow someone on a train.

Suddenly, a dark cargo van drove up next to Brendan, obscuring her view. Freya quickly sat down on a set of stairs; she concentrated intently on his thoughts and the driver's thoughts. Through Brendan's thoughts she saw a dark interior, masked men and a gun. He was surprised, but he also seemed to be expecting them. _Not again,_ he thought, as someone motioned him to get in. "If you guys needed directions –" _In broad daylight even. Those eyes, I know you... :Freya, I hope you're nearby...:_

_How did he know?_

She tried to get closer before the van drove away. When she was half-way across the street, the van casually pulled away. No one noticed because it was quiet. No squealing tires, no gunshots, no yelling. She watched the van, wishing she had Brendan's memory. Late model blue cargo van, partial plate, 4Q1. The street was nearly deserted, but the few people milling around seemed to see nothing of consequence. She touched Brendan's thoughts one last time before he was too far away. An image flashed quickly of a white-haired man in the park. _:Ouch! Easy, pal. Chloroform? Who uses that anymore? Not very original... I'm gonna be so sick later...:_

Freya turned on her heel and ran back to the NSA office. She calculated how long it would take her to get back how long the agent would be missing, and guessed how long it would take the small office to mobilize to save Brendan Dean.

It was going to be a long day.

-----------------

When he left the building, Brendan had a feeling he was being followed. Problem was, he was too tired to dredge up a face. But something was nagging at him. _I just need a few minutes. Close my eyes._ He stumbled into a bus bench in order to avoid a group of people. Although the brush with the bench didn't really hurt, the agent knew there would be a bruise.

Unbidden, an image of a bruise on his arm flashed into memory. A big, ugly purple blotch covering most of his upper arm. _No. Let's not go there right now, Dean. That was a long time ago._ Strangely, he felt a twinge there. Looking down, Brendan noticed he had placed his hand over the long-healed injury. _Long time ago, Dean,_ he reminded himself again. Pushing the thought away, he straightened and lengthened his stride.

A brief bout of dizziness assaulted him, causing his heart to flutter. _Maybe it's time to eat something._ He looked up, noticed his location, and smiled. The deli he frequented was around the corner. A quick look to his right as he stepped inside confirmed his suspicion. Freya was following him, as expected. But someone else was there; he just couldn't see.

"Ahh! Brrrendan Dean!" A familiar accented voice greeted him from behind the counter. "What happened? You look terrible, mily moy!" The short Russian man leaned forward examining the thin man in a now-oversized coat. He became strangely attached to the boy ever since Brendan first stepped foot in his deli. However, the younger man seemed to grow quieter every time he returned. Today, he was distracted, and his pallor rivaled the white counter in front of him.

"Um, hey there, Mister Brodsky. Just a little tired today. Could I get a half pastrami on sourdough?"

Tsking, the deli owner shook his head, smoothing out waxy paper with an audible slap. "You will get a whole one. And your dedushka says to eat it all, pozhaluista?"

Brendan couldn't help but to smile. _Seriously, do I look that bad?_ Absently, he nodded. "Spasibo balsholye, dedushka. See ya around, Mister Brodsky." He snatched the white bag off the counter, and handed over money.

Lev Brodsky waved a sturdy hand at his favorite customer. "Your money is no good today. Leave before Sofia sees you. You know how she gets around you!"

Laughing, he quickly left the deli. People always wanted to take care of him. Why was that? Skip a few meals, fall asleep at your desk, come to work with a slight fever, and suddenly you're a charity case? As he raised his head, he found the missing piece. The van. It pulled up alongside him, blocking him from Freya's view. The door quietly slid open revealing the dark interior, and the distinct barrel of a compact Walther P99. It motioned ominously for him to enter.

"If you guys need directions–" In broad daylight even! The agent's eyes strayed from the gun to its masked owner. _Those eyes. I know you..._

_:Freya, I hope you're nearby!: _A memory flashed of a white-haired man, and a park.

Eyes grabbed his bag, and mumbled to the dazed driver, who took off slowly to not attract attention. Another person sitting in the dark van breathed heavily as if asleep.

"Well," a quiet voice announced from behind the mask. "It seems you have some information."

Brendan made a move for the door, only to find himself pinned to the floor by the heavy breather. _:Ouch! Easy, pal.: _Eyes leaned forward with a dirty rag and a fat brown bottle. You gotta be kidding me!

_:Chloroform? Who uses that anymore? Not very original... I'm gonna be so sick later...:_

"I'd really like to know who you're talking to, young man," was the last thing Brendan Dean heard before his visioned darkened.

--------------

TBC

Sorry that took so long to post! I'm hoping the next update will be quicker. Ooh, and sorry for the phonetic Russian. Hope it says what I want it to say! Thanks for reading, and please R&R!

mily moy my sweet

dedushka Grandpa

pozhaluista please

spasibo balsholye thank you very much


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to everyone for being so patient! Stupid RL issues! And I'm really sorry if it drags a bit. I've re-written it a few times...

On a side note, I recently watched the movie again, so I had to change some things regarding Michael Welles. A little fact that escaped my attention that he cannot read minds, but has some pretty in depth knowledge of how telepaths work. I think we would've found out more about him if this was a series, so the jury is still out for me regarding his "abilities".

Anyhoo, here's chapter four!

I own nothing. Seriously.

------------------------

Freya burst into the office, searching frantically for Michael Welles or Director Harper. She spotted the director wandering into his office with a cup of hot tea. His thoughts detailed his day to the minute, and she was about to add more to his plate. As much as she wanted her next words to sound collected and detailed, they fell out of her mouth in a torrent.

"Miss MacAllister! Please slow down!" Jon Harper's sharp, clear voice cut through her jumbled thoughts. He steered her towards his office, trying to reclaim the calm atmosphere. Leaving the door slightly ajar, the director placed his steaming cup on his desk. "Now. Please start over. Agent Dean was..."

"Someone took him!" Freya gulped down air as she tried to appear as calm as the man before her.

"What's going on?"

Michael Welles had appeared, standing behind her. Freya spun around to confront the new voice in the room. She still refused to believe he couldn't read minds; he always seemed to know what she was thinking and when he was needed.

While Harper calmly stirred his tea, his thoughts were raging, and he did not seem to care that Freya could hear them. "So this may have something to do with his report this morning," he stated tersely.

Instinctively, the telepath covered her ears as every mind slammed into her all at once. Her center had been ripped away by fear for Brendan Dean.

_:Freya! It's okay. We'll get through this. Listen to my voice.:_

Closing her eyes, she took another cleansing breath. "I think it has everything to do with that kidnapping." The air in Harper's office finally stilled enough for Freya to collect her thoughts again. "A dark blue van, maybe black, pulled up next to Agent Dean. There was a gun pointed at him, motioning him to get inside."

"So were you seeing through his eyes?" _:This is new!:_ Welles, thought, face stamped with surprise.

"I'm not sure. There were two images overlapping each other, like one was a memory, and the other was presently happening. When Brendan saw the man's eyes, he remembered a picture from a newspaper. Light hair, light eyes."

"In the newspaper?" Harper thoughtfully pressed a thumb under his chin. "I don't remember anyone fitting that description."

Freya uncomfortably shuffled her feet. "Last night, Brendan brought over a stack of newspapers. Most had the same picture, except one–"

Harper was on his feet, moving quickly to the door. "Merriweather! I need yesterday's papers."

"Which ones, Boss?" Terri adjusted her glasses.

"All of them," he said over his shoulder. Before the door closed, Merriweather entered right behind the director. Harper raised his brows in surprise. "That was fast."

She glanced at the rumpled stack. "Sorry, sir. Recycle bin." And she was gone again.

Flipping through each paper, Harper let them fall on his desk. The last paper finally revealed a different picture. It was taken from the opposite angle, capturing an illusive figure hanging at the edge of the frame. Long, dark fingers pointed at the man in the picture. "Is that him?"

The telepath nodded slowly. "When his thoughts focused, he remembered the park, and this man as one of the figures. But..." There was information she needed, yet did not know how to ask.

Welles smiled a little, holding his hand out for the newspaper. "You're wondering how he could see that far in the dark. And how he could remember such detail. And probably how he knew you were following him. Right?" Glancing down at the picture, his face lost all color.

"What is it, Michael?" Freya heard the researcher's thoughts go into full panic, then dissipate to nothing.

He handed back the paper, and kept his eyes locked on the picture as it moved to the director's desk. "I'm not sure yet," he said as he backed away. Welles fled the office quickly, leaving his companions concerned.

Harper looked at Freya, hoping for enlightenment. The telepath merely shrugged and followed the retreating man. If anyone could figure this out, it was the NSA recruiter. The director rose from his perch at his desk. He had made a decision. "Miss MacAllister. Let's brief the staff."

She touched his thoughts briefly to find out what he had planned to tell everyone. But all she saw in his mind's eye was his last conversation with Brendan Dean. Before now, she wasn't sure how the missing agent would fit into Harper's thoughts. Now, she saw he cared for all his agents, but he was especially fond of Brendan. However, he would never show it.

_Men._

"Let's meet people," Harper said loudly. Assorted agents rose quickly from their desks to join the director at the center conference table. "We have an agent missing. Brendan Dean was last seen outside of Brodsky's Deli approximately thirty minutes ago."

"Any suspects?" someone asked.

Harper shook his head. "What we have right now is a dark van, blue, possibly black. Partial plate 4Q1. The men involved are most likely the same suspects from the Bennett kidnapping." He held up the newspaper for all to see, pointing to a man in the picture. "This is the man we need to find."

"Why would he take Agent Dean?" another agent asked.

Harper frowned. Sooner or later, the details would have to come out about Brendan Dean's involvement in the Bennett case. "Very early yesterday morning, Agent Dean stumbled onto a piece of the plot to kidnap the senator's daughter."

"I may have your next lead," Welles said quietly as he joined Harper, hands full of papers. "Keith Larkin. He was my student about six years ago." Reluctantly, he passed around the papers to everyone. "He has incredible abilities. And his understanding of the mind was limited back then, but by now..."

"Telepathy and thought manipulation?" Glancing from the papers, Merriweather adjusted her glasses. "I've never heard of someone possessing both abilities. And above all, why would he have something to with a senator?"

Welles crossed his arms, looking at an invisible point on the wall. "To be honest, I'm hoping this has nothing to do with me."

"You think he's looking for your approval?" Harper shifted his feet, slipping his hands into his pockets.

The researcher faced his small audience. "Keith Larkin is considered a genius. I'm not sure if he's reached this status through manipulation of thoughts and memories. But one thing is for sure, he's looking for some sort of recognition."

"So he can make you think you saw something, or remember a false memory?" An agent in the back asked.

"Or forget something," Freya said quietly. Suddenly, she felt afraid for her new friend and co-worker. "Larkin is going to hurt Brendan if he can't get what he wants."

_:I can't let that happen.:_ "Definitely. Our job now is to find out what he wants. Most likely, he will call soon." _:I hope!:_

:It's never simple, is it?: "All right," Harper roused from his contemplative state. "I want a tap on Doctor Welles' phone, and the main line. It may be low-tech for this guy, but it's a place to start." He turned to the doctor, who seemed to be edging away. "Any other questions?"

"I have one, sir," another agent spoke up.

"Yes, Agent Phillips?"

"Doctor Welles mentioned this person was a former student. Does this mean he was a possible recruit for this office, or the NSA in general?"

Harper deferred to Welles. There was no way his superiors would give a straight answer, so the good doctor would have to field this on his own.

Welles' head bobbed once. "There was a possibility Larkin would have worked here, but this was a little before my time with the NSA. I worked with another branch of intelligence for the government, which has now disbanded. Larkin was showing signs of becoming a sociopath before I could help him control his abilities. By the time I got through to him, he left the institute. Not much longer after that, I lost touch completely. The file I gave you will have his last known address, and some people he may have gone to for help."

"Everyone has their assignment. I want to know what Keith Larkin has been up to for the last six years. And I'd like to have something definite as soon as humanly possible." Jon Harper nodded once, and turned on his heel. _:It's not much, but it's a start. I can't believe I'm talking about telepaths in the real world...:_ Freya listened to his thoughts buzz around his head, flashing phone numbers and names.

The telepath followed Welles back into his office. "There's something else, isn't there?"

_:What's really on your mind, Miss MacAllister?:_ "And if there is?"

"I don't mean to offend you, Michael. But you're hiding something." She moved to a chair in front of his desk. "This case is personal for you on more levels than they know, starting with Larkin. He got to you, didn't he?"

Impatiently, the doctor tapped his pen on the desk. He knew she was skimming the surface of his thoughts, but Freya would not enter unless invited. "He did get to me. Once. I was naive, and self-confident. I thought if I could just test the extent of his abilities on myself, I'd be able to stop it from happening again."

"What did you lose?"

Welles smiled sadly, sheepishly. "About ten minutes." He looked at her, then to his small library of medical journals. "I asked if he could give me a false memory. Cocky, I know. But I thought I took all the necessary precautions. When I finally figured out what was going on, ten minutes were gone, and I had no memory of what happened. I did, however, manage to stop the manipulation."

"Ten minutes isn't too bad."

"No, but he was hoping for an hour." Doctor Welles sighed greatly, tipping his head back to rest on the chair. "If anything happens to Brendan..." _:This is my fault. I was here. Why didn't I stay with him? Or at least kept an eye on him.:_

"This isn't your fault. If you blame yourself, I might as well be blamed. I didn't get a good look at the van or the men who took him."

"He's our best lead to this whole cluster, and we lost him."

Freya leaned forward, eyes intent on the doctor. "I'll do whatever it takes to find Brendan. And you'll help me outsmart Larkin."

Now Welles leaned forward, frowning greatly. "I don't think –"

"He's not as smart as he thinks, you know. We already know who he is, and his last know location. Our advantage may be little, but we've got a place to start." She watched as his frown lessened. "What I will need your help with is the confrontation. He'll be ready, and if I was him, I wouldn't go down without a fight. You know how his mind works."

Welles tossed his pen down, and rose sharply. "That was years ago, Freya. If he's gotten any better, his abilities any sharper, I won't be able to stop him without further research." The crease between his brows smoothed. "But," he allowed a lopsided smirk reach his lips. "He can't keep the manipulation forever."

"And he can't change everyone's memory. Someone knows something."

"Freya," the taller man stepped around his desk to face her. "I need you to do a little eavesdropping." Shock registered on her face; she couldn't deny it wasn't the best idea given her past. He raised his hands to stop her protest. "You'll be fine. Just remember what I taught you."

While she relished the thought of listening in on the office staff, Freya was curious. "But everyone has a lot higher security clearance than I do – so why –" She paused listening to his random thoughts. "You think someone may have tipped Larkin off before."

A wolfish grin briefly flashed on the researcher's face. "He couldn't have found me in the first place without a little help."

"That could be anyone, Michael. Any idea where I should start?"

Welles folded his arms tightly across his chest. The enigmatic man was never one for looking defensive, but now was a good a time as any. _:Merriweather. She's the only one I trust right now.:_ "The only one."

She nodded once, and moved quickly out of the office. Terri Merriweather was waiting for her at her desk with a reassuring smile. Freya had to agree with Brendan's assessment of his straightlaced assistant, the naughty librarian. She hid a smile behind a hand, as she approached the agent.

"Well, let's see what we can see." She slid into her chair, and began to type. Her thoughts were a storm of numbers, names, and questions. Before she typed in an inquiry, Terri was on to the next one in her mind. "Looks like he had a rough life. In and out of institutions for much of his childhood; his parents couldn't take the burden." Tapping a few keys, another screen appeared. "He became a ward of the state, and got lost in the system."

"Then Michael found him," Freya said quietly. This was beginning to sound familiar. "Just like he found me."

"Locked up in an institution as a schizoid? That doesn't –"

"That was exactly me."

Merriweather paused in her search, facing the telepath. _:I want to ask, but it's none of my business. I'm not sure why she's here, or who she is. But if Brendan trusts her, I will too.:_ She waited for the girl to elaborate, but when there was nothing forthcoming, the agent returned to her inquiries. "So when Doctor Welles finds Keith Larkin, and he finally gets someone to impress."

"Someone who can accept him for who he was, unconditionally."

"Someone to acknowledge that he's not crazy."

The younger woman folded her arms across her chest, and sat down in a nearby chair. "How – why – would a person wait for someone who was possibly in the park who possibly saw something?"

"This is a patient person," Merriweather responded. "Unless he was tipped off by someone." Once again her fingers flew over the keyboard. "I mean, who has time to read every mind?" _:Am I really believing the telepath stuff? I wonder what she meant by Larkin being like her?:_

"I realize this all must seem crazy to you. Like science fiction. But there are people out there who are always three steps ahead of everyone, crazy superpowers or not. This is what I love about this job. We get to catch the bad guys before they can harm anyone else."

Merriweather awarded her companion with a rare mischievous grin. "No matter how unconventional, right?" She rubbed her hands together, and rolled her shoulders back. "This is gonna take some time, and I need some coffee. Want anything?"

"I could use some water," Freya said, hoping she wasn't too forward. With a quick firm nod, the agent was off.

Taking a deep breath, Freya listened to the buzz of thoughts around the office. Most were concerned for their fellow agent, Brendan Dean, a few felt the missing agent was favored by Director Harper.

_:How does he get himself into these situations?_

_:I wonder how long we're going to look for him. And senator's daughter, for that matter. When should we give up?:_

_:What if this Larkin guy had inside information?:_

:It's almost two o'clock. Why does that matter? I'm supposed to call this number (202-555-6263) to report on the situation. But why? I can't stop myself...:

Freya stood immediately, searching for a face to match the voice. "Dammit!" Everyone seemed to be on the phone. She nearly ran into Merriweather as she tried to zero-in on the thoughts of a person that may hold another piece of a grandiloquent puzzle. Suddenly, she remembered a test Michael gave her.

_Close your eyes and concentrate. You know the voice._

_:Hang on, Brendan. We're going to find you.:_

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TBC

Good Lord! That was sooo hard! I promise not to leave ya hangin' for so long for the next update! Thanks for reading if you're still there!

**Susnn:** Thanks for the kick in the pants!


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you to everyone who's stuck by this one!

A/N: So, a long, long time ago, I had a dream. In this dream, I was standing in a room. It was filled with pictures and each picture was a memory. Not sure where it came from, possibly too many books or television. Or something. Now, I have foisted this onto Brendan Dean. Poor kid.

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Chapter 5

_Help me! Wake up! You gotta help me! Gasp He's coming!_

Brendan Dean woke with a start, immediately regretting the action. The face he had seen resembled Jessica Bennett, however, the face also looked like someone he knew a long time ago. Everything was jumbled at this moment, and he fought the nausea that assaulted him viciously. He remembered waking earlier as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings. _I've been moved. Okay, so now what?_

Shivering, Brendan slowly sat up, breathing through the nausea. He nearly lost the battle once he was fully upright, when he finally noticed his next dilemma. He was on a cot shoved in the corner of a very small room, barely bigger than a closet. A thin mattress allowed him to feel every spring in the cot, and the sheet covering it was cleaner than he expected. Looking around he saw no blanket to quell the cold that seeped out of the walls and into his bones. He had been stripped to his undershirt, and thankfully let him keep his pants. But not his socks and shoes, or his coat, leaving him colder by the minute.

The sound of scraping metal made him forget about the cold and his nausea. A small window in the metal door slid open, revealing a man with smiling eyes. "Ah! You're awake!" Then the window slammed shut. Another scraping sound came from the door as it opened. The man walked inside, colorless eyes raking over his captive.

Brendan felt a chill he didn't believe came entirely from the room. The man caught his eyes and would not let go. _What's he doing? I feel like he's fondling my brain–_ "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"Don't worry, Agent Dean– may I call you Brendan? I'm just getting to know you." A slow smile bent his colorless lips, as he came closer.

When Brendan saw first the man in the newspaper, he thought his captor was very old. Blinking past the blurriness, he could now see that the man was just the opposite. He wasn't an albino, he just had no color. "Well, Powder, I don't appreciate nosey people. And I think that's far enough," he said, scooting back against the wall.

The man smiled ferally. "Very interesting. My goodness, Brendan. You must have an exceptional memory." He leaned closer to the agent, reaching out a hand, only to have it batted away. "I'll wager it's better than Michael Welles believes it to be, isn't it?"

The statement made Brendan's stomach churn. "I wouldn't know. We could call him if you want." _Hope those shoes are expensive, 'cause they're about to have something unpleasant all over them._ He kicked out at his captor, but the man seemed to see it coming. This earned Brendan a backhanded slap, sending dots dancing before his eyes. He could no longer keep in what was pressing to come out, and Brendan lurched forward, vomiting over the side of the bed. _Only one shoe, dammit. Didn't see that one coming, did ya?_ The dry heaves left him exhausted, face pressed to the thin mattress.

Somewhere in the distance of his fading awareness, he heard the man call for someone. Brendan closed his watering eyes against the monster headache due any minute. The smell of disinfectant forced his eyes open again. Another man absently mopped up the mess, eyes never seeing the agent lying on the cot. He left without a word, slamming the door behind him. Brendan was alone in the small, cold room again.

Curling up tighter, he turned inward. Brendan did not know how much time he had before the creepy guy came back, so he began to reorganize his thoughts and memories. _I'm not sure what he was doing earlier, but I really don't like it._

As he moved around in his mind's eye, Brendan remembered why he chose doors and rooms as filing cabinets. When he was young, he read a book that likened stored memories to your favorite room. A library, or a room full of pictures; each specific memory a book or a picture. Visit anytime you like... His extensive imagination took it further, organizing them into rooms. However, having so many pictures of memories left him feeling exposed; some memories had to have doors.

Then his parents divorced, and the pictures of happy memories came down. Bringing new meaning to the word compartmentalizing, he made special rooms for those memories. Sometimes, he would remember certain things involving his father, and blurt it out. His mother would just leave the room if his father's name was mentioned. It's hard for a twelve-year-old to understand what his mother felt, but he obeyed her unspoken wishes. Everything relating to his father was placed in a room with a door. Eventually, all of his memories were locked away behind a door.

Now, he roamed down the endless hall of doors he created. _I think I've watched The Matrix too many times,_ he thought, hearing the endless jangle of keys unlocking and re-locking doors. In his phantom hands, he carried a tiny picture; a memory that was well sought after. Placing it in his most guarded room, Brendan waved his hand and the pictures in the frames disappeared. Not erased, just hidden from prying eyes. He left the room, locking it behind him.

"Hmm. Doors. You _are_ clever." The voice came from behind.

Brendan spun around to find his captor standing there. _:How– nevermind.:_ Outwardly, he forced his eyes open. The man was standing over him, smiling greedily. "What do you want? Because, I'm taken, you know. I'm flattered, really, but-–"

"Be quiet!" The man barely held his anger as he sat beside the prone agent. Placing his hands on Brendan's shoulders, he braced himself.

Brendan watched as the door opened, admitting two other men, one holding a small box. _This can't be good._ A memory unbidden surfaced, making him panic sooner than he wanted. _Not now! That was a long time ago! It's not the same!_ Instinctively, he kicked out, trying to free himself.

Quickly, the third man wrangled his flailing legs down to the mattress, securely holding them down. Brendan still lacked the strength to fight off one, let alone three, but he had to try. His shoulders were pinned, yet he moved his arms as much as he could, grabbing anything and pulling.

The colorless man kept smiling as he moved his elbow to rest on his victim's chest. He grabbed an arm, forcing it straight out. Without a word, the only standing man opened the box, revealing a syringe. _Nonono!_

"Oh, yes, Agent Dean. As much as I'd like to break that resolve of yours slowly, I don't have that kind of time. You'll tell me what I need to know, and this will be less painful."

"Pain? I like pain. You should know that by now. I-–"

"I said be quiet!" The pressure on his chest increased as the man shifted his weight, making it difficult for Brendan to breathe. He ignored his victim's clawing free hand as he braced the other arm. The contents of the syringe worked quickly, judging by the lessened struggle.

Warmth crept through his veins as he felt the drug start to take hold. His limbs felt heavy, yet he didn't feel as lethargic as he thought he would. His body was paralyzed, yet his mind was very active; Brendan knew with sudden clarity he was about to be interrogated like he'd never seen, heard or felt outside the NSA. He was positive Freya never treated her suspects this way.

"There's that name again. I'm so anxious to meet her," the man said. Removing his elbow from Brendan's chest, he seemed satisfied with what he saw.

Through half-closed eyes, the agent saw his captor lean down to his field of vision. "Are you ready?" His voice echoed in Brendan's head. Then he felt hands on either side of his face, keeping his head still.

If he could have smiled, he would have. It would have been a cruel, cold smile that he inherited from his mother, one that he had used on more than one occasion. Many times Brendan had seen her smile that way, just before a trial. Now, he watched a blurry figure above him from a body that would not respond to his commands. _:You will only get what I want you to see.:_ he gritted mentally.

_:Do you think so?:_ A deep laugh tickled Brendan's senses. _:So refreshing to see your confidence, Agent Dean. It's early yet.: _The bed shifted as the man leaned down again. Brendan felt hot breath on his neck. "You cannot resist me."

_:I can try.:_ It was a feeble attempt, but he had to let the guy know he was in for a fight. _Has Freya ever had to go through this?_ he wondered suddenly.

Then, all at once, he felt pain and laughter at war with each other. Someone had blown open his mind, and fondled it with cold stiff fingers. As much as he wanted to sleep and not care what happened, he could only watch from afar. Brendan wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and plunge into the darkness waiting for him. But his physical eyes wouldn't close, or open any further. He was trapped in his own mind, and didn't see a way out. _Well, better make the best of it!_

An unfamiliar being appeared in his hall of doors. He looked like the man who had kidnapped him, but distorted. He wasn't as dapper, in fact, his manner of dress was rather shabby. The expensive clothes were gone, along with the neatly trimmed, spiky white hair. _This is his avatar. This is how he sees himself. _Brendan almost felt sorry for the guy. _:What is your name?:_ he asked, unsure if he made the right decision. Words echoed around him, and he heard a name on the breeze. Keith Larkin.

This put the man ill at ease. His features changed, darkened. Brendan looked around him, figuring out a way to avoid him. _:I told you. You will only see what I want you to see.:_

Suddenly, a howling wind swirled around them, slamming every door shut. He wasn't sure how telepaths did this, but with a strong imagination, Brendan figured he had the advantage. As a child, he had retreated to the rooms of memories so often his mother thought he had become unstable. No one knew his mind like he did, and with twenty-five years of experience, he would defeat this Larkin person. At least die trying.

The darkened, angry avatar, brightened. He even smiled. Larkin moved to the nearest door, finding it locked. _:Well, this is going to take some time.:_ When turned again, he found Brendan Dean's taller avatar standing before him. Larkin did not expect the punch to feel so real. He found himself staring down at his prize again. _This untrained, stubborn person just kicked him out? He may be untrained, but he has more discipline than I have ever seen._ Plunging back into the agent's mind, he vaguely felt the body twitch beneath his hands.

Larkin returned to the mental hall of doors. Dean was nowhere to be found. _:Playing coy, are we, Agent Dean?:_ Upon further investigation, Larkin saw the doors had been reordered. He was in awe and growing more angry. Calming himself, he moved forward, picking a random door.

The door was ornate, gold leafing in flourishes and a shiny knob. With a great mental burst, Larkin forced his way into the room. It was a brightly lit room, lushly decorated. Soft, wide round chairs, striped walls in pale blue, winter white, and a thin stripe of gold separating the colors. Pictures covered most of the walls, featuring one woman. _:His mother. If I'm right, each of these are memories.:_ Picking a picture at random, Larkin dived in, immersing himself in the memory.

_Brendan Dean was eight, and wearing his first real tie. He tied it himself, remembering precisely how his father tied his own. They were going to a dinner party at the governor's mansion. He remembered where it was because his class had gone there on a field trip. The facts came tumbling forward._

_Governor Charles Madden, 56_

_Former partner, Sheilds, Proctor, and Hartman. One of the oldest firms in the city._

_Wife: Grace Madden, nee Wittleson, 43. Second wife._

_Children: John Christopher (Jack), 9, and Alice Marie, 6_

_Everything he had ever read, or saw briefly involving the man, came unbidden to his mind. Young Brendan flinched as his mother placed her hand on his shoulder. Once entering the home, he saw pictures and awards and various knick-knacks, instantly knowing each one's purpose and origin._

_Paget Dean looked down at her son with familiar hazel eyes; she seemed concerned and a little annoyed. Her son promised to behave, and stay as quiet as possible. Being a court judge and a mother and a wife weighed on her sometimes, but she tried to be there for her strangely gifted son. "Doin' all right, kiddo?" she asked, cupping Brendan's face in her hand._

_Larkin watched the memory unfold as the night progressed. Young Brendan had impressed the governor by absently reciting a legal code while stacking playing cards into an elaborate house. Jack and Alice built their simple houses on either side; Brendan had been careful not to use too many cards. Paget and Robert Dean looked at their hosts, mildly terrified and anxious. _

_The governor laughed loud and long, slapping his knee. "I'll be– you know, he's right! Thank you, young man. I will tell that to my advisor. I can't wait to see the look on his face!"_

_Brendan watched his mother take a sip of her drink and look away. This was the first time he ever suffered a major headache._

Leaving the memory, Larkin moved slowly out of the room. He knew there would only be more memories with his mother, whom he never quite gained approval. When he closed the ornate door, he noticed the rest of the doors. Every door was guarded with an idealized sentinel, each with their creator's likeness, each one wearing a uniform indicative of the memory.

_Damn it all._ Larkin cursed himself for spending too much time in one room. From far away, his body required attention. Opening his eyes, he saw the catatonic man below. Eyes still half-closed and unfocused, Dean's unresponsive body grew cool beneath him. The sun had gone down, and the air in the small room was close to freezing.

_Just a few more minutes,_ he thought. Then he slipped back into the agent's mind, moving quickly and warily down the hall of guarded doors. Larkin tried to make sense of the sentinels stationed at the locked doors. One door caught his eye. It was a bright turquoise blue with a big silver knob, and a sentinel wearing a Secret Service-type uniform, right down to the dark Ray Band glasses. _:This door must relate to work.:_ Larkin surmised.

The sentinel seemed nonchalant at Larkin's appearance, until the telepath moved closer. Behind the dark glasses, he saw sharpened eyes; Larkin could feel the avatar tense.

"Sorry, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to leave the area," it said, voice deep and confident.

Unconvinced the sentinel could hurt him, Larkin tried to shuffle past, only to be met with a sidearm. "Step away, sir!"

Surprised, Larkin moved away. He wasn't quite sure what would happen next. Squaring figurative shoulders, he lunged forward. A deafening shot rang out as the Secret Service sentinel fired a round.

Larkin snapped back to the here and now. "Brendan Dean! You are quite _amazing!_ The detail, and the care– my God! The concentration and the imagination... Words fail me!" He happily shook his victim. "I must see more!"

He forced himself back into Brendan's mind.

-------------------

A soft moan escaped his lips. Brendan felt an itch inside his skull that he couldn't scratch. The effort to maintain control further wore down his exhausted body. Outwardly, he was freezing; flashes of warmth made him feel the cold even more. Through his lashes he could see the metal door open. Plotting his escape would be more than a little difficult, what with a telepath traipsing through his head and all. But he would try.

While he didn't believe he could hide in the corners of his mind, he did create a secret room. The room resembled his home, and he sank into his comfortable chair. His memories would remain locked away, but he was so very tired. As a precaution, he shut away some memories to reserve energy. In his secret place, he could remain active and detached from everything else. It probably wasn't the best plan, but it was a plan.

--------------------

When Larkin returned, it seemed that there were fewer doors in the long hall. But that didn't matter. Presently, his avatar had been shot, beaten, even had a tropical drink thrown in its face by the Vacation sentinel. The intruder was in awe of his surroundings, but now he had an idea how to get around them.

Leaving Brendan Dean's highly organized mind, Larkin stared down at the thin body below him. It shivered with cold, and possibly fever. Larkin snapped his fingers, and one of his "helpers" dazedly wandered into the room. "Get me a blanket," he said, sending the man off into the bowels of the empty building.

He stood, watching his captive tremble. Somehow, this man had eluded him; hiding behind well-guarded doors. Chuckling to himself, he considered the hall of doors. He himself would have never thought of something so clever. Larkin reached down, smoothing away a stray lock of hair on the agent's sweat-dampened forehead.

"I'm going to find you, Brendan," he whispered. Reaching down again, he touched Brendan's cheek. The man flinched, and his eyes opened wider, then closed. The drug was wearing off. "Rest up. I'll return soon."

Keith Larkin left the room as his helper covered the limp, shivering man with a blanket. "Time to talk to the lovely Jessica..."

------------------

TBC

Ok. So there you have it. There it is. This is getting complicated! Freya, help!


	6. Chapter 6

So now that Impulse is done, I can focus on my monster. Here's chapter six!

----------------------

While Freya "observed" the agents in action, skimmed their thoughts again. Someone was about to betray everyone with one vital bit of information, and she couldn't find them. Concentrating harder, she knew she needed to find that person, no matter how bad the headache got.

_:We should take a break.:_

_:I think this woman has a thing for Dean:_

_:They know.:_

_That voice again! Definitely a woman, a slight accent. From..._

"Find anything?"

A voice beside her startled Freya; she opened eyes she had not thought she closed. "I did, but... Let's take a break."

Merriweather blinked at her through smudged glasses. "I totally agree with you." She rose, and stretched slowly. "Get you something?"

Freya stood also, looking out over the office. _Wait._ "Hey, Terri. Who's that woman?" She pointed over to a desk in the middle of the cubicles. The woman in question looked completely confused as she reached for the phone. Focusing on her thoughts, Freya half-listened to the other agent.

"Elise Thompson. She's kind of new, well, newer than me. She checked the calendar. "Been here about three years, I guess."

Distracted, Freya nodded her head, keeping Elise in sight. "She's the leak, Terri. Problem is, she doesn't know it."

Merriweather adjusted her glasses. "How – I'll get the director."

"No! Wait. I need to find out more information first." The telepath walked quickly over to the agent's desk. Just as Elise dialed a number, Freya placed her had on the receiver. Waiting for the woman to come back to reality, she hung up the phone.

"But, I need..." If she didn't call, he would leave her!

"I need to ask you a few questions, Elise."

The woman finally looked up at the offending person, blinking owlishly. "I'm sorry, I have to make a call. If you'll excuse me..." Elise reached for the phone again.

"Please, Elise. Do you know Keith Larkin?" Freya watched images in Elise's mind drift by, but no Larkin.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Who exactly are you?"

"I'm sorry," Freya smiled, hoping it was a warm, inviting smile. "I'm Freya MacAllister, NSA observer." She moved closer to the agent, kneeling down beside her. _Don't look so suspicious, idiot!_ "We were wondering if you had a new friend in your life."

Almost immediately, a distorted face came into view, yet Freya recognized him. Sometimes, she wished she were an empath, get a feeling with the images. Like I don't have enough problems already.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Elise said, clearly unsettled.

_She's not a criminal! Jeez!_ "I'm sorry," Freya said again, rising to her full height. "I've wasted enough of your time." She nodded once, and left the cubicle. Ducking into an adjoining one, Freya waited as Elise dialed a number. One thought after another flitted by, carrying little information.

Using one of Michael Welles' more effective exercises, Freya closed her eyes and listened carefully. At first, they came at a rush, then Elise calmed and organized her words. Fortunately for Freya, Elise thought about everything before she spoke.

_:He always asks how's work. I don't know why.:_

She droned on, mentally and verbally, making small talk with the new person in her life. Then the conversation changed; her thoughts dimmed, and her voice slurred a bit.

_He's using a trigger – he's either hypnotized Elise or preconditioned her response!_

"Yes, they know who you are."

"No, they don't know where to look."

"Yes, Michael told them about you." Her whispered responses were cold and disconnected.

_:A telepath? There's no such things as mind readers.:_ "Yes, I will call again after work." Suddenly, her demeanor changed. "Hey, thanks for picking me up!" _:Good I don't have to take the subway. Maybe he'll take me to dinner.:_

Freya could hear the smile on Elise's face as she chatted happily about the flowers she received, and dinner plans. When she heard the conversation end, she rose and sidled past the cubicle entrance again. This time she noticed the flowers. _How did he have flowers sent here?_ "Great flowers," she said quickly.

Elise received those flowers two days ago, the day of the kidnapping. All right, so we know he's known about Michael since then. Obviously, but he couldn't get in until he found the gullible agent. "Umm, Elise?"

_:Not you again!:_

"Yep. Me again. I'm sorry to bother you, but..." Freya knelt down again in front of Elise. Looking around theatrically, she made sure no one was listening. "I've got this date with a guy that I just met."

Immediately, the other woman's eyes lit up. A girl in love is always eager to share advice. "Oh?"

Freya tried to look smitten, but she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "He asked me out to this very fancy, new restaurant –" Mentally, she waited for Elise to think of a name. The woman knew where to eat, and to be seen. "– Circle, and I heard you may have been there."

The moderately tall, average-looking Elise smiled, grey eyes gleaming. "If you have reservations there, he must have some clout." _:Maybe I should get to know this girl. What was her name again?:_

"Ya think? I'm Freya, by the way," she said hoping that the woman didn't notice she hadn't asked her question aloud.

Elise indicated the second chair in her cubicle after clearing files from it. "Well, I'm sure you'll have a nice time. If you like the very upscale, this place is the best..."

The woman droned on about what was good to eat there, and Freya tried to follow the images in her head. Elise had seen Larkin, and heard how hard it was for him to get in that restaurant. She imagined that Larkin used a lot of persuasion, and possibly cash to get into the hottest place in town.

"... had the Sauvignon Blanc with his salmon. I had the chicken. Their wine list is so extensive, and Eric knew just what to order..."

Freya waited patiently for the retelling to end. "So did you guys, umm.. Is he gonna see you again?"

"I think so," she said uncertainly. Elise remembered the drive home, a kiss, and then bed. Her memory dwelled on the kiss. But something was missing.

Watching in her mind's eye, Freya saw a discrepancy in the time. The clock on the wall was different; the time was off by ninety minutes. Did Larkin need that time to manipulate Elise? "Sounds like it was a late night," she said absently.

"Not really," the woman answered. The memory of her clock wavered from 1:30 a.m. to 11 p.m. "I think I got to bed around 11. Eric said he had to get up early."

:She doesn't even know!: "Cool." Freya rose slowly, jerking her thumb in the direction of her desk. "Well, I guess I better get back to work. Thanks for the information."

"Nice meeting you, Freya." _:Strange girl.:_

Merriweather watched the telepath return to her desk, arms crossed thoughtfully. "Anything?"

"Well, she definitely knows him. Larkin is going by the name Eric, by the way."

"His middle name. Not too original."

"No, it isn't. She doesn't know his last name yet, which I think is odd. They've gone out twice, and she's hoping to see him again." Freya leaned against the desk. "She's being heavily influenced by him. It seems each time they're together, she's missing about an hour and a half."

"Really? How do you know that?"

Swallowing quickly, Freya crossed her arms. Someone is bound to find out. "Well, just from what she told me. There were differences and time changes."

Merriweather nodded, looking a bit confused. "Okay. Do you think we should tail her?"

"You're asking me?" Freya couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. Sobering, she hugged herself tightly. "Well, I would. Should we talk to the director about this?"

Again, the agent nodded. "We can brief him and go from there."

_:I'm coming, Brendan! Hang on!:_

-----------------

One of his sentinels reported that the stranger had left. Brendan's true self moved cautiously out of his secret room. Outwardly, he opened his eyes to darkness and cold, curling tighter in the blanket against the chill. His brain felt like it was two sizes too big for his skull, and his throat felt like sandpaper.

Glancing around the room, he tried to find water, but they had left nothing for him. The sour taste built up in his mouth, making him nauseous again. A low moan escaped his lips as he moved too quickly; he wanted to rise and work out the knots in his neck and back.

Brendan finally rose stiffly off the bed, stretching everything. Pacing the small room in the dark, he devised a plan to leave Freya a trail. Chances were, that if his captor had his way, the agent would be a vegetable before he was found.

Hopefully, Freya could solve the clues, however there was a possibility that Larkin would too. He would find Brendan and destroy him.

A shiver travelled the length of his body, then turned to trembling. Two steps to the left, Brendan collapsed onto the bed. Closing his eyes tightly, he looked inward and reorganized his memories and thoughts. He gave Agent Avatar an assignment to interrogate Larkin's avatar.

Then he set about decorating his hall of doors with bread crumbs. Once satisfied that this may work, he retreated to his secret room, making the door disappear.

And waited.

-------------------

Freya MacAllister approached the corner slowly. She took it upon herself to follow Elise, even though Michael Welles was against it. Keeping her nose pressed to the cold brick wall, she peeked around the corner.

Larkin picked up Elise outside the office building in a very expensive car he no doubt coerced off the lot. Focusing her mind, she listened to the enamoured agent remember the flowers and her conversation with Freya.

_:Who is this Freya?:_ Larkin reached out to stroke Elise's hair.

_What are you doing? Is this how you get inside?_ Freya became furious. _Using trust and the intimacy of a relationship to get what you want._ She moved closer to the car, stilling her thoughts. The last thing she needed was Larkin to catch on too early.

She saw Elise's head loll to the side, appearing asleep. Larkin mouthed some words to the unconscious woman. When there was no response, he smiled smugly, putting the car into gear.

After writing down as much as she could, Freya melted away into the darkness. She ran back to the disguised van, knocking twice.

Terri Merriweather greeted her with an outstretched hand and a smile. "Get anything?"

"Well, I got a dealer plate number from the car he drove, but I doubt that will get us anywhere."

"What about Elise?"

Freya felt a sudden chill. "He just put her to sleep. My guess is that he's going to probe her memory."

"You think he's on to us." Field Agent Mark Connors stated.

The younger woman smiled sadly. "I _know_ he's on to us. And worse, he's looking for me now." She frowned greatly. "We need to keep on Elise, go back to her apartment. Larkin's up to something, and he may harm her this time."

Connors moved to the front of the van, starting it up. "What makes you say that?"

Freya wanted to scream out _'Because I'm a telepath!'_, but restrained herself yet again. "He asked about me when she got in the car," she said lamely.

"We'll go to her house. I don't think he would go anywhere else, knowing someone would be watching. So far, your hunch has been on the mark." Merriweather glanced meaningfully at the driver, daring him to say anything. "If anything happens to Elise, Harper will have our heads."

Connors sighed. _:What does this newbie know anyway?:_ "Fine. Address?"

----------------

They arrived at Elise Thompson's home a short drive away. Larkin's car was parked on the street looking conspicuous. Freya wanted to hop out of the car and get inside to listen for trouble. Her knee nervously bounced up and down while she waited for... something.

A stray thought floated on the air. Conjuring up a scene from a restaurant. Then it was gone. Freya sought out the thought again, focusing on the building in front of her. _Where are you? Ah!_

Voices and images drifted around her as Freya narrowed her focus, listening for Larkin's voice. He soothed her into accepting the fabricated evening, the music, the food, everything. Then he asked a question. _:Who is Freya MacAllister?:_

"Hey, Freya? Wake up!"

She heard voices close to her, and felt someone shake her arm. But she needed to see Elise's answer. A flurry of images bombarded her mind. Not only does Larkin know exactly who she was, but now he saw how Freya was connected to Brendan and Michael Welles. Elise had collected a lot of data on her. She even had information that was very confidential; the telepath's entire past unfolded before her mental eyes. "Oh no."

"Freya? What's happened?"

The younger woman blinked furiously at the mental barrage her new colleagues unleashed. "Wait. Just... gimme a second..." She gathered everything she had to collect herself. _:I can't tell them what I know, because that would mean I have to tell them how I know.:_ After a few breaths, she looked at both of her companions. "We need – I need to check on Elise," she said quietly, moving towards the door.

_:She can't do that! She's a civilian!:_ Connors' mind raced through every rule and regulation in the NSA handbook. "I don't think–"

"I have to make sure." Freya tried to shake loose Merriweather's hand on her shoulder, but the agent held firm.

Reaching blindly behind her, Merriweather glanced at both people. "I know. But take this," she thrust a radio into Freya's hand. "Click this button twice if there's trouble."

"Then get out of the way." Connors checked his sidearm. "You will come straight back here while we check it out." _:This is the worst plan I've ever been involved with. I'm following her.:_

"Stow it, Connors," Terri turned her steel blue gaze on the telepath. "Just having a look, right?"

Freya hesitated. "Yep." She moved swiftly across the street to the backyard gate, and disappeared from sight.

From an upstairs window, Keith Larkin watched her enter the yard.

---------------------

"How do you feel?"

Brendan woke with a start, feeling a hand on his shoulder. He was highly disoriented and cold, having been suddenly pulled from his safe place. His body remained unresponsive as he tried to move away.

"He just totally drugged you," a giggly voice informed him.

Brendan focused his eyes on the girl sitting next to him. "Jessica?" he croaked.

The girl smiled triumphantly. "That's me! At least, I think you said my name. You kinda sound like you just went to the dentist." Jessica held a dripping cloth over his head; he felt each drop in his hair. "You were so hot this morning – well not hot, like hot. I mean you're cute 'n' all, but you have a really bad fever. Keith told me to put this on your head. Is it working?"

His answer came out as a moan. Brendan was hot and cold all at once, the worse kind of fever to him. Chances were the cold room had been keeping the fever in check. But now he felt worse. The girl was rambling on like a child, playing with his hair, tracing hearts on his chest. Her constant chatter caused him to drift, making it harder to concentrate. He closed his eyes to gather his scattering thoughts.

She had been changed. Was this how Larkin wanted her? Jessica Bennett was a junior in college, majoring in Journalism, and spoke three languages. Now, it seemed doubtful she would return to that life. He shivered, thinking about what Larkin may have done to someone without any defenses. The memory of cold fingers caressing his brain made him nauseous.

"Are you cold? Keith said I should keep this blanket around..." When she trailed off, Brendan opened his eyes. The girl looked like she was remembering something. A crease formed between her brows. "If you have a really high fever, we have to cool you down. But Keith said..." Memory dawned, but her reaction was subdued.

_:She knows something! So. Larkin's games are only temporary...:_

Jessica began to hum a lullaby, keeping up appearances. "I bet you're thirsty. Here," she held his head while he took a few sips. Setting the glass on the floor within reach, she rose. "Do you like soup? I made some. Well, it's just broth, 'cause you're probably not up to eating, really. So I'll be back, okay?" The tall metal door scraped open for her, and she was gone.

Brendan retreated to his secret room, waiting for the next intrusion.

---------------------

TBC

Whoa. That was hard! I appreciate everyone that reads and reviews! I'll try not to wait so long for a new update.That means everyone stop writing good fics! I admit I have a problem.


	7. Chapter 7

Oh my! Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that everyone has enjoyed it so far, and I hope to have this wrapped up soon. I think. So, at long last...

Chapter 7

Larkin came back downstairs to collect Elise, who was curled up on the couch. While it wasn't cold out, he had started a fire to make a more relaxing environment. He looked sadly at her face, painted orange by the firelight; she had become a liability. Her information gathering skills were better than the others, but there was no way he could have accounted for a telepath. The thought made him smile. _Michael Welles is using his best and brightest to find little ol' me!_

"I should be angry with you, Elise. But really, you've outdone yourself." He stroked her fair cheek. "You look tired. Perhaps you need a vacation." Entering her mind for the last time, Larkin suddenly thought of his most recent victim. He had yet to get a straight answer from the non-telepath, which made the challenge all the more thrilling. He planted a whole scenario in Elise's mind, what road she would take, what time she would leave.

She woke just enough to make two phone calls. The first was to her sister. The next was the HR department at the NSA. "Hey, Georgia. It's Elise Thompson over in Research. I'm gonna take a few days off, maybe go see my sister. If you need any thing, please call my cell. Talk to you Monday. Bye!" As soon as the call ended, she fell back into a stupor. Now she was ready. Elise Thompson would drive down to Memphis to see her sister. However, she was to take an unfortunate turn off the highway.

"Smile, my dear. You're about to be famous."

A shadow ghosted past a window. Larkin reached out to catch any stray thoughts from the intruder. Nothing. _:It can't be!:_ Moving away from Elise, he tried to catch a glimpse of the figure lurking in the shadows. No face, but he could tell it was a woman. _:Is this Freya MacAllister?:_

Mentally, he created a barrage of sound. The figure outside covered her ears and staggered back towards the gate.

Larking fled the house, broadcasting images to the people running towards him. _:I'm not here.:_ A headache was beginning to form behind his eyes, but he pushed past it as he avoided the confused agents. To them, he had suddenly disappeared in front of their eyes.

Jumping in the car, Larkin glanced behind. He saw a woman running towards the car, waving her arms. Driving away, he was mildly surprised at the anger that came from nowhere. Instead of Michael Welles, Larkin's anger became focused on Brendan Dean. If it wasn't for the agent, everything would have worked. This was his last job, and then he wanted to disappear for a long time. It was time to rest.

Pressing his foot down on the gas, Larkin drove back with more determination to drive Dean out somehow. The man had proved a formidable opponent, and amazingly resourceful even at his weakest moment. Brendan would have to be dealt with soon. He'd never met anyone like Brendan, and he had yet to meet Freya.

Again, the anger flared. He had miscalculated everyone. The risks he had taken seemed worth it at the time, but now he could only blame himself. _A bit over-confident in on your own abilities, Keith._

Time. It wasn't on his side anymore. The only thing to do now was to get out now, slip away before they really knew everything.

Driving back to the warehouse, he doubled back several times to make sure he wasn't followed. Larkin knew he wouldn't, but old habits die hard. Upon entering the warehouse, he parked the beautiful, sleek black Mercedes for the last time.

Larkin turned and pounded down the hall to the tiny room holding the NSA agent. _It's time, Brendan Dean._ "It's time."

-------------------

"Why didn't you stop him?" Freya was furious. Larkin had walked right past them and drove off; this was not good.

"What are you talking about?" Connors replied. "We heard the signal, so we came. What–"

"There was someone here for a second, but..." Merriweather's brows twitched together. "He disappeared." _:Connors, if you bring up The Shadow, I will–:_

"You mean he cloud–" Connors stopped when his partner slapped the back of his head. "I'm just sayin'..."

Freya's anger dissipated as she hid a smile. "But he's right," she said, walking past her companions. "I'm going to check on Elise."

"I'll go with you. Connors, get the van."

They entered Elise Thompson's home through the unlocked door. The interior was dimly lit by firelight, and the person in question lay on the plush couch.

Freya tentatively reached out to listen to stray thoughts from the sleeping woman. There were dreams of a dinner that never happened with a man she would never see again. Determining Elise was in no immediate danger, Freya moved off toward the kitchen.

Merriweather smoothed a blanket over the woman. "Well? She okay?"

The younger woman returned with a glass of water and two Tylenol. _Why am I always doing this?_ "I think she'll be fine for now. I don't know what else he may have told her to do, so I think someone should keep an eye on her."

"What about Larkin?"

"I'm sure he left her with a memory of a nice dinner, and a great time."

"Really? Wish I could have that for most of the dates I've been on." _:Wish I could forget half of them.:_

Freya frowned at the dying fire. "It's late. We should go home for now."

Merriweather crossed her arms, looking at the other woman. "It is likely he won't try anything for now. But..." she sighed loudly. "I'm so worried about Brendan."

"You and me both," Freya moved toward the door. "He may not have harmed Elise this time, but I'm sure he has something in store for Brendan."

"Aren't you worried he'll come for you next?"

"Yeah, but I can't do anything about it now." Throwing open the door, she saw Connors frowning behind the wheel. "Let's get some sleep. I'm sure we'll need it tomorrow."

"Want some company?" _:A field agent should be with her right now. Connors can take us to her place, and come back to keep an eye on Thompson.:_

"Well, only if you want to. I can't guarantee the company, though." Freya knew the agent was feeling a bit on the ineffectual side, even though this chain of events were not her fault. She smiled at the shorter woman. "It's been a while since I've had a sleep over." _And no, Brendan doesn't count! _Slumber parties are about junk food and gossip. Brendan didn't eat, and was hardly talkative._ Not to mention exhausted._

"Cool. But," Merriweather put up a finger as Freya locked and closed the door. "Connors is not invited."

--------------------

Larkin breezed past the office where his two minions sat obediently awaiting his arrival. Jessica was leaving Dean's cell with a bowl. When she saw him, her eyes softened, and her mind went blank.

"Umm, hi, Keith. You're back early."

"Yes. Is he ready for me?"

Jessica twirled her hair with her free hand. "I guess. He didn't eat much, and he's still hot and woozy. My mom knows a good doctor. I could call–"

Larkin lay a finger on her lips roughly. "Maybe tomorrow, if he's good." He shouldered past her, pushing open the heavy metal door. He saw his victim sitting on the bed, head in one hand, the other hanging loosely between his knees. Despite the drug working its way through his system, Brendan slowly raised his head, looking more alert than he should. "Good. You're awake."

_I don't know if I can do this anymore!_

Before he knew it, Larkin was holding him down by the shoulders, fingers digging painfully in overly hot skin. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as his limbs went limp; whatever this drug was it seemed to take a while to work. And Larkin had it timed just right. Through half-closed eyes, Brendan saw the colorless face looming above him, greedy smile in place.

_You're on, Agent Sentinel!_

When the telepath slipped into Brendan Dean's mind, he was greeted by Work sentinel. Instead of a hall of doors, he ended up in an interrogation room.

"Why don't you have a seat, Mister Larkin. I have a few questions for you."

Larkin's avatar crossed his arms. "I'm not answering any of your questions, Agent Dean." He shoved past the intimidating agent only to find the door was gone.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm going to have to detain you for the time being."

As Larkin threw the first punch, he found he was no match even in the imaginary world. The sentinel landed punch after punch with amazing speed and accuracy. He found himself once again in awe of this man.

Finally, the door re-appeared, and Larkin stumbled out of the sentinel's grasp. He was in the hall of doors again, and saw another sentinel. _:No. You're different.:_ This had to be Brendan's true avatar. Pale, bruised, and haunted, this Brendan was in the middle of hanging another picture. He was slightly shorter than Work sentinel, thinner too; his clothes hang loosely on his slight frame.

_:This is how he feels right now. Have I broken him?:_ "I've found you, Agent Dean," Larkin said, closing the distance between them.

Brendan dropped the picture and fled down the hall. Another door appeared, opening for him. He nearly made it before he was grabbed from behind.

Larkin snatched the tattered suit jacket, throwing him against the wall. He easily ducked the blow the other man blindly dealt. Clearly, Brendan's goal was to get into this room, and Larkin would not let that happen. Suddenly, Larkin found himself on the ground, choking under Brendan's grip.

A quick move gained him the upper hand, something the agent had learned from a former partner. Only now, he was tiring, pouring all his concentration into keeping Larkin pinned. All the flew open at once as his control wavered. Brendan tried to close most of them before he felt his body impact with a wall. When his vision lightened, he found his safe place and began crawling towards it, leaving his enemy to rummage through his memories.

"There you are!" Larkin yelled triumphantly.

Peripherally, Brendan felt the man fondle the memory. The ornate frame held an image of Freya, eyes challenging him. It was his favorite expression; the first time he knew she was going to be a friend. He felt the man enter the memory, stretching and pulling it this way and that.

Larkin found other memories and did the same, manipulating events. He finally discovered the very small frame in the corner of the room, hidden slightly behind others. _:This is it!:_

The weakened and battered agent pulled himself closer to the door, stopping at the threshold. He could go no further. A gleeful laugh from behind made him open his eyes, and make the last effort to hide in the room. The laugh came closer, and he pulled his legs inside.

But this wasn't his safe place. In fact, it was the last place he wanted to be. The door closed of its own accord, leaving him in darkness. The only light came from a window at the other end of the room, where a figure stood, silhouetted and silent.

_No! Not now!_

--------------------

Eeew. Sorry about the cliffy, and you've waited so long for it! And it's short! Not to worry! Chapter 8 will soon be up. Promise. No, really! Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, so I had some trouble with this chapter. Kinda lost my focus. Again. I dedicate this chapter to Brendan Dean! And please forgive me if it's a bit confusing. So here it is... and please, let me know what you think!

Chapter 8

"Come on in," Freya said as she climbed the stairs. "It's a bit messy, but it's home."

Merriweather followed her up the stairs, chuckling. "My cleaning lady refuses to come back. Apparently, since I'm allergic to hangers, she had to drop me."

Laughing as she entered the kitchen, Freya opened the refrigerator. "Are you hungry? I got some cold pizza, maybe some soda." She pulled out the box, placing it on the counter. Glancing over at the sink, she frowned at the two mugs from earlier today. Has he only been missing since this morning? The digital clock read 12:35, confirming Brendan Dean had been missing for fourteen hours. Freya suddenly wished she was psychic, touch an item and get a location on her friend.

"Cold pizza sounds perfect. I brought the chocolate." Reaching into the bag she had carried up the stairs, Terri pulled out several candy bars.

When they settled on the couch, Freya let the comfortable silence stretch between them. She made a decision. "Can you keep a secret?"

The agent smiled._ :I work for the NSA! Of course I can.:_ "Sure."

Freya pursed her lips. "Okay. So you know how I've given some answers to questions that haven't been asked?"

"So you _are_ a telepath?"

The younger woman looked surprised. "You know?"

"Can't help but notice a few things. You and Brendan in particular." Terri shrugged and took a bite of her pizza, chewing thoughtfully. "Not to mention a fair amount of scuttlebutt after the Gazal case."

"I guess I should've known it would get out sooner or later." Picking at the sausage on her slice, she sighed. "I'm so worried about Brendan. Just from the very little bit I got from Larkin, I don't know how Brendan's gonna hold up."

Both women stopped eating; this was not the way to think positively. A thought occurred to Merriweather. "Can you do what Larkin can do?"

Shaking her head slowly, Freya looked directly at the agent. "I can barely control what I have, let alone give other people false memories. I only hope that we find him in time before Larkin does any real damage."

"What about Doc Welles? He's got some pet projects, maybe he knows someone who can counter the guy."

"If that were true, Michael would have brought them already. No," Freya replied sadly. "We're on our own."

Merriweather rose, and began to pace the length of the living room. "So. No back up plan, and we need one."

"Okay. What about Elise? Chances are that he's left something behind, a small clue."

"But I thought the only thing you saw–"

"Yeah, well, we're gonna have to really question her. She may not understand our reasons, but we've got to ask her the right questions."

"Those would be?"

Now Freya rose to pace, wringing her hands. Unlike Larkin, she would be able to ask a few more questions of Elise. "This will have to be visual rather than spoken–"

"Visual?"

The telepath smiled sheepishly. "I can see your thoughts as well as read them."

"Interesting. So you think that if you get her to think about certain things, it's possible that Larkin may have slipped up."

"Yes. Left a little glimpse of something."

Merriweather smiled, excited that there may still be hope. "It would be amazing if it happens, Freya."

"I know. He's gotten sloppy, so I hope maybe a slip is all we need."

Collecting the plates from the table, Freya moved to the kitchen. She avoided looking in the sink again; the mug would just mock her.

"There is no way I'm going to be able to sleep right now."

"I agree. I've got some movies, but I want to think about questions to ask."

"Good idea, Freya. Why don't you practice on me? Ask me questions, see what I think about," Merriweather adjusted her glasses.

Freya mulled it over. "It wouldn't be exactly the same, but maybe I can come up with a technique. Let's try it out."

For the next two hours, the two women bounced questions back and forth. Freya found it easier to use mutual acquaintances. And she found Terri to be an unusual, quite random person. For once, she felt completely comfortable in the agent's presence. They fell asleep on opposite ends of the long couch just before dawn.

---------------

When he was nine, Brendan Dean was kidnapped. Snatched from his bedroom in the early light of dawn. His nanny, under duress, let it happen. The man who stole him was an ex-boyfriend from high school. He never showed up on the background check because, according to her, it was over before it began. Lauren Jacobs came highly recommended, and Paget Dean needed someone to be there for her quiet son when she was not.

But Craig Fowler had been stalking Lauren for years. A string of arrests, and finally a charge of grand larceny landed him in Judge Dean's court. He escaped custody, thanks to a bribed rent-a-cop and a cousin who worked in the courthouse. Fowler decided to make both women pay by taking the only person that matter to either.

He waited in the shadows, hiding under a magnificent pine tree. Before the first rays of dawn, he made his way into the Dean home. Fowler knew Brendan's parents would be away, and Lauren would be in the mansion alone. Climbing the stairs, he easily found the boy's room. And there he waited until there was enough light to navigate the grounds.

Brendan struggled valiantly, even tried to get Lauren to help him. Ultimately, he ran outside to the row of garages attempting to get help. The boy ended up in the trunk of his grandfather's town car.

All Brendan remembered after that was being very cold in a dark space, possibly having spent the entire time in the trunk. The next thing he remembered was his father. The darkness receded, and Robert Dean's arms were extended, wrapping tightly around his son. A blanket came next, then tears in his hair. His mother never told him if a ransom was paid, or even asked, or what happened to Lauren Jacobs or Craig Fowler.

Little Brendan Dean didn't speak for a week after that. He was lost to his thoughts, rearranging them, stuffing them away hoping they would never see the light of day. Soon, he treated that memory like the rest – locked away in the corner of his mind behind a door.

But the door had become old and worn down. The memory fought to surface often, usually when a missing child alert came on the news.

One day the lock broke on that beaten door. A few years ago, he had gotten lost in his memories while suffering from a mild concussion. The doctors thought he had gone catatonic, and he fought tooth and nail to get back. His long memory consumed him in a whirlwind of images, sights and sounds. After three days, Brendan resurfaced quietly and alone. He couldn't organize his thoughts properly until the fourth day; the doctors gave him all sorts of tests for brain damage.

_I can't go through that again!_

Now, being stuck in the memory of his childhood room posed a few problems for Brendan. A traumatic event happened here, and no matter how much his mother tried to help. Nothing ever worked. After years of nightmares and erratic behavior, Brendan just _knew_ he was the reason his father left them. Brendan focused all of his energy to leave the very room he was taken from years ago. He saw the man standing in the window, silhouetted against the early light of dawn. If he looked closer, he'd see himself sound asleep in bed.

"You can't leave, Brendan," a voice whispered from below.

"I have to. I need to wake up," the older Brendan said quietly. He walked over to the blank wall, willing the door to reappear, refusing to turn around. He didn't want to see the figure standing in the shadows. _:I don't need this right now!:_

"No, you don't. But you're here." The boy sat up in bed, waiting for the older man to turn around. Finally, they faced each other, both pale and bruised and haunted. "This is the only place that's safe for you now."

"Safe? This place?"

Younger Brendan hopped off the bed, ignoring his kidnapper's dangerous eyes. "There's no time to explain this. I will deal with Larkin." Without hesitation, the missing door appeared, opening for him. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Wait! You can't do this!"

"I can and I am, Brendan. _God!_ It's been twenty-five years!" The boy shook his head mournfully. "Taking this re-enactment off."

Agent Dean was rooted to the spot, unable to stop the boy from leaving.

The kid stepped through the door, and turned back to look at his older self. "You're not strong enough to face Larkin right now. But you can face this nightmare head on. It made you who you are, for better or for worse. You can do this. I'll be back soon." The door closed and disappeared once again.

A movement in the shadows caught his eye; Fowler had moved away from the window. Lightning fast, the next forty-eight hours played in rapid succession. Slipping on the rug in the hall, pounding down the sturdy wooden stairs.. The nanny drinking his mother's favorite scotch in the kitchen. The dusty garage with his grandfather's prized cars. The full moon over his captor's shoulder.

All at once, every shredded memory, every scrambled thought caught him up in a whirlwind, engulfing him in darkness. At the center was the dimmest light.

-----------------

Once outside of the room, young Brendan felt his older self slipping away. He knew that Brendan would find his way back, just like before. Just like always.

Squaring his slight shoulders, the nine-year-old strode purposefully towards Keith Larkin's frantic avatar, which was destroying and manipulating every memory/picture he could lay his hands on. "Stop!"

-----------------

When she woke, Jessica Bennett remembered. Things were still jumbled, but she knew this was not the best place to be. Dad. Her dad would know what to do! He always knew how to bail her out. _:Call him. How?:_

_:Wait. Secret Service guy. He had a coat. Maybe a phone?:_

Keith's men were squabbling outside the other cell, so she slipped out of her cell, moving quietly towards the office. There was a large phone on the desk, but she knew that didn't work. Fishing around in the pockets of every coat she could see, Jessica finally felt the small prize. Flipping it open, she found it dead.

Her jumbled thoughts threatened to overwhelm her; she took a deep breath to calm herself. _:Wait. Maybe it's not dead, just off?:_ She pressed the power button, and the phone came to life. Jessica knew she had one shot, and quickly dialed her father's number.

"Daddy?"

-----------------

"Stop!"

Larkin spun around to find a boy with his hands in his pockets. "Who are you? How– Mister Dean?"

The boy shrugged; a familiar smirk spread across his lips. "In the not-so-flesh," he said, casually leaning against a ravaged wall.

"Why are you here?" The sight of this child puzzled Larkin deeply.

Shaking his head, Brendan straightened, taking a few steps towards the unwelcome guest. "Um, you're the one in _my_ head. Or did you forget?"

"Where is your true self?" He was growing impatient with the child, who had the audacity to look amused.

"What do you care?" Brendan stood rigidly, chin raised in defiance. "Why are you _still_ here? You got what you wanted so just leave!"

Larkin's eye twitched in annoyance. "He ruined everything! I can't let him go."

The boy circled the taller man in the wide hall. "You have the girl. You even have the parents waiting to give you anything you ask. Not to mention your uncanny ability to manipulate the people around you." He came to face his captor again. "And yet you obsess over an overworked, self-deprecating fed with abandonment issues. Seems to me _you_ ruined everything all by your lonesome."

"What he knows about me–"

"Everybody knows about you, Keith! You left a trail so obvious, even _I_ found it! Was Michael Welles _ever_ your target?"

Now, Larkin shrugged. "He usually is, now and again."

"And you lost your focus–"

"No! I have to fix everything now because he – _you_ – saw something only a few were supposed to see! I–"

The green hazel eyes flashed in the dim light. "You got cocky, and _you_ screwed up! Now you're taking it out on him?" Young Brendan never saw the hand flying towards his face.

"You will pay for that!"

The smirk was back as the boy wiped blood off his lip with the back of his hand. "You're losing control, Keith."

Larkin snorted. "I found what I needed. I'll take my leave. For now." He turned, heading for his misshapen door hastily built into Brendan Dean's consciousness.

"Oh. You mean _this?_"

The man stopped in his tracks. _:I'm not falling for this. I need to leave his mind right now.:_

"That's all fine and good. I'll just put this back then. See ya around, Keith."

Now Larkin whipped around, spotting the boy walking unhurriedly towards an old door. The formerly decimated hall of doors was pristine and meticulously reorganized. He couldn't help but to gasp in surprise. _:Everyone else was so easy. Why can't I contain him?:_

"And you never will. And yes, I did answer your whining. Besides, I already told you. Losing control." Facing his captor again, Brendan held up a small picture frame; the park scene sharply detailed. "Memory is a tricky thing, Keith. This is survival. I may not have many talents, but I have a damn good _memory_. This is all an illusion."

Larkin charged the boy, only to find himself yanked back. Outwardly, his body demanded attention. "This isn't over, Dean!"

The boy suddenly looked very tired. "Yes. It is. You've lost control here. And out there will be no different. You've left your charges too long unattended."

"None of them matter now. Michael is on his way, and–"

"And what? He'll ooh and ahh over your achievements? You'll _make_ him ooh and ahh? Yeah, good luck with that plan." Brendan tilted his head as if listening for something. "Maybe you should leave. You snore, by the way." He walked through a weathered door, which disappeared as soon as it closed. In fact, all the doors vanished from view.

Keith Larkin let out a shout as he was yanked away from the tortured mind of Brendan Dean.

---------------

When he opened his eyes, he heard labored breathing and arguing voices. He had fallen asleep across the agent's chest. Brendan seemed to still be feverish; his dingy T-shirt was soaked through. Morning light only slightly brightened the small room, but it was enough to aggravate his building headache.

Larkin rose stiffly, slowly working out the kinks and cramps in his body. The voices outside grew steadily louder; he frowned as he remembered the boy's words. _You've lost control here._ Leaning down, he pulled the thin blanket over the thin body prone languidly on the thin mattress.

Squaring his shoulders, and straightening his rumpled clothes, Larkin left the cold cell. He had to regain control, however temporary, before Welles – _no,_ Freya MacAllister – found him.

------------------

TBC

I so love the idea of illusion. Things aren't as they seem, especially if you don't want them to be. Thanks for stickin' with me!


	9. Chapter 9

I regret being away from this for so long! This will be wrapped up soon, promise! One chapter and an epilogue, I think. Not my best chapter, so I hope it doesn't suck too much!

As usual, these characters don't belong to me, but I am enjoying the use of them.

-------------------

The sound of ringing finally punched through Freya's warm blanket of sleep. Scanning offices, conversations with women, and bombardment of noise and confusion, had taken it's toll on her. Sleep was welcome when it came, and presently, the telepath fought to stay that way. But the ringing persisted. _I have got to change that ring..._

"Freya!" A frantic voice yelled on the other end, causing her to drop the phone. "... reach you two for the last twenty minutes!" Connors squeaked. In the background, an irate woman told him to get out of her car.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, she's trying to leave. I stopped her, but–"

Freya was instantly awake. "We'll be right there! Keep her calm; we need to ask her a few questions."

"I'm on it. Get here as soon as you can. Agent Thompson! Cut that out–" The line went dead.

Closing her phone with a snap, Freya leaned over and shook Merriweather awake. "Gotta go. Elise is trying to leave town."

Terri stretched like a cat, eyes slit behind crooked glasses. Hopping off the couch, she reached for her cell phone. "Let me call for a car." As she dialed, the agent sniffed the air. "Is that coffee I smell?"

Freya's eyes wandered the kitchen suspiciously. 'The finest beverage-makin' machine' was indeed brewing coffee. She smiled sadly as she pulled out two mugs. "Looks like Brendan got bored yesterday morning."_ I guess he really didn't go back to sleep._

_:He was here? How early in the morning, I wonder?:_ "What do you mean?"

Merriweather had sneaked up on her again; Freya covered her start by reaching for the pot. "He programmed my coffee maker."

The other woman nodded. _:That kid. Just like my brother!:_ "It was probably more for him than you." _:He does that to everyone's machine. Must be some sort of OCD.:_ "He lobbied for a coffee maker similar to this one for the office. Probably so that there would always be a pot waiting for him." _:First one in, last to leave.:_

"Sounds like him. Let's find you something to wear."

Twenty minutes later, the car arrived. A young man appeared at the door. "Agent Merriweather. All gassed up for ya." He tossed her the keys._ :Helllloooo, Ma'am.:_ Brendan Dean wasn't the only one who thought of the naughty librarian.

"Thanks, Todd. See ya," she said, a smile coyly playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Lookin' forward to it, Agent Merriweather," Todd replied, just as coyly. _:I'd like to get under that crisp, smart suit some time, Ma'am!:_ He jogged back out to the street, getting into a non-descript van.

_:Nice view. Run all you want, I'll get you–:_

"Does he always call you Agent Merriweather?" Freya asked, purposefully cutting into her thoughts.

She shrugged, holding a devilish grin. "At least he doesn't call me Ma'am."

Freya nearly choked on her coffee.

-------------------

_:Something's wrong. I can feel it.:_

Young Brendan swayed as he walked down the hall. The doors of memory randomly disappeared and reappeared, making it harder for him to return to his own room. He had left his older self to battle a vortex of emotion and guilt; it nearly consumed him like a tornado. Leaving quickly, Brendan tried to fix what Larkin had done.

But due to his deteriorating health, Brendan's actual body was forgetting things. Like how to breathe properly. _:Very important, Brain. This body must keep breathing, okay?:_ He tried to reorganize each remaining memory, to build on the next ones, new and old, but to no avail. The real Brendan had to wake up.

_Now._

The boy stopped at the place where his room should be, however, the door would not appear for him. Sliding to the floor, he concentrated harder than ever to find the room. It was the only memory truly intact, and the older man was lost in it.

And he was so _very_ tired.

-------------------

They arrived at Elise Thompson's home, and found Mark Connors stoically seated in the back of her car, ignoring her pleas.

"Look, my sister is expecting me. I have to go now."

"Once again, I'm sorry. But you have to–"

"Mornin', Agent Connors."

_:Bless all that is holy! What took so long?: _"Agent Merriweather. I'm glad you're here," he replied calmly.

Again, Terri Merriweather sported a bemused grin. _:Poor kid.:_ "Sorry we were late. Had to get a car." She turned pointedly at Elise, face nearly as serious as her voice. "And sorry for the inconvenience, Elise. We just need to ask you a few questions."

_:Good God! What now? I'm so sick of people–:_

"We really are sorry for delaying your trip," Freya had to cut off her mental tirade. The headache that didn't quite go away, was back. She handed Connors the thermos.

His blue eyes rounded greedily as he took it in both hands. _:I would kiss you right now if Merriweather wasn't here.:_ "Thanks! You are a lifesaver!" He left the back seat, quickly heading for the van. :Coffeecoffeecoffee!:

Hiding a smile behind a cough, Freya swept her hand towards the house. "Why don't we go inside? I promise this won't take long."

_:Sure. That's what they all say. Think I don't know an interrogation when I see it?:_ "Fine. I don't see why this is happening." Elise sighed dramatically as she opened the door to her home. "I told _:that idiot:_ Agent Connors everything was cleared with HR–"

Merriweather gestured to the couch. "It's not about that. Erik, your new friend, was last seen outside your home around eleven-thirty last night."

Images shifted around in her mind as Elise thought about her date. "Sorry, I didn't think I'd need permission to go out on a date." :Jealous, Merriweather?:

"Keith Larkin, the one who calls himself Erik–"

"Now wait just a damned minute!" Elise stood defensively, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Why would I date someone who could possibly be involved in the kidnapping of a federal agent?" :He cannot be the same person!:

Freya and Terri looked at each other, then back at Elise. "I know you must have a lot of questions. But it's true. You've been seeing Keith Erik Larkin for the past three months."

The shorter agent took a step forward. "The briefing that we had yesterday. You know. The one you missed half of because you had to call him?"

"I don't–"

"You read the file. You know what he can do, Elise." _:Come on, Elise. Put it together!:_ Merriweather pressed, willing the other woman to remember something.

To the telepath, the woman's thoughts were chaos. Revamped memories overlapping new edits and images, all wrapped in a package of sound and color. Freya fought to get through Larkin's attention to detail. "Your memory has been tampered with, Agent Thompson. We're not sure how long he's been doing this to you."

_:Oh my God!:_ "He did that? Made me believe something happened?" _:But I loved him! Oh God! Now I'm a security risk. My job! Am I getting fired? What–:_

"Elise!" Freya grabbed her by the shoulders. "I need you to focus!" Suddenly, the other woman's thoughts stilled, sharpening on an image of Keith Larkin. Freya let go of her, stepping back to where the other agent stood. "Can you tell me about last night?"

The chaos of jumbled images flitted through her mind. As she focused, the images slowed, becoming sharper. "We had dinner at Marv's, then there was a band. We danced a little, then he said he had to be up early. So we left. He dropped me off here, and... that's it."

Merriweather shifted uncomfortably. "Did he tell you where he'd be today?"

Images drifted through a haze of lapses in time. In the chaos, an image flitted by, off and on like a light. It was Brendan, lying on a bed. Then it was gone. I can't believe this is working! Freya's heart leapt as she formed a question. "Can we call him right now?"

A phone number emerged in Elise's thoughts, along with a feeling of dread. "Well... He did say he would be really busy today..." An image of a very tall man standing over a building popped into her mind. The interior of a dusty building, and whispered frantic words. A voice that was not Elise's repeated _:Protect me...:_ "I'm trying to do all I can to help, but I just don't know where to start."

"It's all right. You're doing fine." Freya wanted to sit down; pain spread from her temples, aching behind her eyes. When Elise sat down, the telepath followed suit. Taking a deep breath, Freya willed the pain to recede. "Did Keith tell you when he'd be back?"

The images churned again, this time another flash of Brendan. He was standing in a hall of doors, much like she had seen in his mind yesterday. The next flash was Jessica Bennett laughing. The Elise's thoughts turned to an elaborate dinner and the drive home. "No. Sorry. He didn't say." She turned to look at the clock. "Mind if I call my sister now? Tell her I'll be late?"

"Just one more question," Freya said, trying to form the right words. Instead, a different question came to mind. "What were you planning to do on your way to your sister's house?"

An image of a road sign and a steep hill which led to a sharp drop-off. "What do you mean? I'm just driving–" Elise suddenly looked frightened. "Why... I, um..." The cliff was a well-known landmark; it meant she was about fifty miles away from her sister.

"I know this is confusing. But don't worry. We'll keep an eye on you." Freya reached over, surprised by sudden compassion, and patted the woman's writhing hands.

"Why would he make me... Why would I drive off a cliff?" Elise was about to erupt into tears.

_:Oh crap!:_

_:Oh no!:_

Freya and Terri glanced at each other. Both women weren't sure how to deal with the crying, but they tried to calm her. "Like Miss MacAllister said," Merriweather soothed. "You're gonna be fine. Why don't you call your sister and tell her you'll see her another time." _:I sure hope that murderous suggestion wears off!:_

Agent Connors entered the house with a duffle bag. "Thought maybe you were staying. Brought these back for you." Placing the bag near the stairs, he turned to his partner. "I called for replacements. Figured we need to get back to the office."

Merriweather nodded slowly. "You thought right, Mark. Can't keep the director waiting." _:Freya, I hope you got something!:_ "Elise, stay put. You'll be fine."

Together, they left the agent's home. Two more agents were walking up the driveway, and Connors walk ahead to brief them.

"I saw Brendan," Freya said suddenly. "He didn't look good."

"What do you – How did she see him?"

Freya wrung her hands in frustration. There was nothing she could do right now, not until she processed the information. "I think Larkin really screwed up. While he's giving false memories, his personal thoughts are leaking through."

"And that means, what, exactly?" _:Wait. Am I ready for the answer?:_

"You'll be fine, I promise," Freya said again, absently. "It means that he's distracted and upset. Whatever Brendan has done has got him riled."

Merriweather nodded once, opening the car door. "Let's get back, see if anything's come over the wire. I think the FBI should cough up whatever info they have. But that's my opinion."

"You know the director will be on top of that, right?" Connors had slipped into the back seat, cradling the thermos.

"I sure hope so," the agent stated.

The ride to the non-descript building downtown was spent in complete silence.

--------------------

"Why should I get the food?" Bad Guy Number One shoved Bad Guy Number Two. "I always get the food. I want to guard now."

"No," Number Two drawled, shifting his weight. "Mister Keith said you get the food, I guard. You know this."

"I don't want to do that. You do it." Shove.

"I am not going to fight with you." Shove.

"Why? Scared I'll beat the crap outta you?" Shove.

"No." Shove.

"Then what's yer problem? Go get the food." Shove.

"I don't think you're grasping the–" This time, a shove and a hit from Number Two. He sighed. _What is with this jackass? I don't wanna be here anymore than he does, but we gotta do what he says!_

"That all you got?" Number One says, recovering from his stagger against the wall.

"Yeah. That's it." Number Two says tossing his head in the direction of the kitchenette down the hall. He saw the man's hackles rise. "Look–"

"Enough!" Larkin came bursting out of the small room. _I don't have time for this!_ "Why don't the two of you have a seat." Watching them file into the glass enclosed office, he turned to find Jessica Bennett twirling her hair. She rhythmically tapped a finger against her lips, whispering and smiling.

Keith couldn't help admire his handiwork. Definitely more agreeable now, he thought, remembering her first day in captivity. She was highly intelligent, one of the reasons he chose her. Not to mention his general animosity towards Jason Blackwell, her soon-to-be fiance. Their falling out happened three years ago, but to Larkin it was yesterday.

Blackwell and he had become fast friends in college, even though Larkin was older. Between Blackwell's good looks, and Larkin's powers of persuasion, they were unstoppable. Grades, girls, money – whatever they wanted, they got. Until, of course, the girl came along and broke up the band. Blackwell took his classes more seriously, and found out he actually did have a knack for finance. With Jessica's good name, and a strong family bond, Blackwell went far.

Larkin could say it was _that_ cliche, _that_ easy. But things are layered and confusing when it comes to friends. He had hoped to ride on the coattails of his friend, at least long enough to stand on his own two feet. But the girl had convinced Blackwell otherwise. Although Jessica was much younger than her new beau, she was wise beyond her years. If Larkin wasn't so vengeful, he would have recognized her as an asset rather than a hindrance. But he only saw her as an obstacle.

Now he dealt with the obstacle by scrambling her mind like the plate of eggs she held out to him.

"I made breakfast for you. But," Jessica looked distressed, shifting from one foot to the other. "Are you leaving?"

Larkin smiled wolfishly. "Yes, sweetie. But I'll be back." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, sending a suggestion of fire. "Understand?"

She smiled happily, bobbing her head up and down, careful to keep her mind and expression blank. "Umm hmm! I like fire. It's pretty!" She placed the plate on the desk, and skipped away, humming a little song. Skidding to a halt, Jessica turned to her captor. "What about that guy? He's already really hot – well not hot, hot – but won't it make him sicker?"

"Don't worry about him, my dear. Watch the pretty fire." _:The fire can't hurt you.:_

"It won't? Okay. I know where the matches are! See you later, Keith!" Jessica skipped away again, this time towards the kitchen. _:Well, Jason. I hope that –:_

A crash from behind indicated the two men were fighting again. Larkin whirled on them, throwing the most vehement, vivid thought he could muster. Both men stopped wrestling to grab their heads in pain. _You've lost control here..._

"_You!" _He pointed to Number One. "Watch the girl and the agent. And you," nodding to Number Two. "Get the van. We're going on a field trip." Larkin smiled. This was coming to an end, and he needed to prepare.

-----------------------

"Hey! Are you okay?" The younger Brendan tried to rouse his older self. "Brendan? I know you're tired. But you have to wake up. Now!" The boy strove for as much urgency he could broadcast. The agent still lay on the floor of the bedroom. Somehow, he had gotten trapped in the memory. Brendan wondered if the agent were trying to figure out what happened to him during those hours or days that were still missing nearly thirty years later.

"Dean! We have to get out of here! Wake up!" Tugging on the man's arm, he managed to pull Brendan upright. Brendan mumbled incoherently, but rose unsteadily. "I can't do this for you, Brendan. You need to return to your mind, your time."

"Why?"

The boy looked straight into the taller man's eyes. "I'm not real, remember? I'm just a memory. This is your mind, and you need to return. Larkin has probably left, so you can wake up safely." He sighed greatly. "I know you're tired. Just looking at you makes me want to sleep for a week. But if you wanna escape, now would be the time for it."

"'Kay," he slurred as his body was being steered towards a door.

"Pay attention. Larkin's up to something, and you need to be careful."

"That's prolly an unnerstament." Brendan blinked blearily, and stumbled to the door he made as an exit.

He woke to someone shaking his shoulders.

"Wake up! Wake up, please!" Jessica Bennett leaned over his face, screaming, tears on her cheeks.

Brendan wanted to answer, but couldn't find his voice. She gave him tepid water to drink, but it didn't help. The words were all scrambled in his mind. When he closed his eyes to concentrate, he was back in his bedroom, Craig Fowler standing at the window. A couple of panicked breaths later, he realized he could understand her words.

"You wanna get outta here?" Jessica clumsily drew Brendan's shirt around his shoulders, then pulled his hands through the arms of the shirt. Next came the jacket, which proved harder as Brendan began faltering. "No, no! Wake up! I'm gonna help you stand, okay?"

Brendan nodded slowly, her words dawning slowly. _She's okay! And now she's helping me? I was right; Larkin was losing control. Go me!_ He held onto her hand like the lifeline it was, and rose stiffly. Something was wrong. _Was I drugged too long? Was I gone too long? Oh God, I'm so tired..._

"Hey! Hey! Wake up! I know you're, like, really tired, but we gotta go."

Words formed on his stiff lips. "Comin'."

Her smile was like daylight. "Cool."

----------------------

As soon as Keith left, Jessica wandered into the kitchen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the weird guy staring at her. "What do you want?"

"You," was all he said.

Jessica tried to remember her self-defense classes, but decided on the skillet next to her hand. One hand on the skillet, one hiking up her skirt, she waited for him to get closer. She swung the skillet as hard as she could, but miscalculated where he would be. Fortunately, the guy had a glass jaw as she hit his chin. With a backhand that would make her tennis instructor proud, she swung the skillet back, catching him on the side of the face with a satisfying BWANG! Gently placing the weapon back on the stove, Jessica stepped over the unconscious man, then ran for the Secret Service guy's room.

As she ran, Jessica tried to focus her scattering thoughts. She needed to get her bearings, and find the keys to the black car in the garage. Throwing open the door to the small room, she spotted the man on the rickety cot. He was in the same curled position she saw him in last. Only now he was burning up with a fever worse than... yesterday? Last night?

Running back to the office, she found his shirt and jacket, but not his coat. The phone! The phone! Jessica lamented the loss, but gathered the other things. It was cold out, but if she got the car started, they would be warm. Returning to the room, she began shaking him awake. There was no response, and she was running out of time. Finally, he blinked.

"Wake up! Wake up, please!" She knew she was screaming, but he didn't seem to hear.

Eyes fluttered until they focused weakly on her face. In the dim light, she could see confusion in the green eyes. I don't know his name! People focus better when you use their names, don't they? Instead, she used the situation they were both in: captivity. "You wanna get outta here?"

Once he was upright, she fumbled with the shirt and jacket, pulling them over his too warm body. But he began listing to the side. "No, no! Wake up! I'm gonna help you stand, okay?" She could see he was struggling to listen and make out her words, but he looked beyond exhausted. Jessica hoped he would focus on her voice. "Hey! Hey! Wake up! I know you're, like, really tired, but we gotta go."

After blinking a few times, he finally spoke. "Comin'."

Relief like a cool shower washed over her. "Cool."

-----------------------

Slowly, but surely, they made their way to the garage. After a few tries, Jessica finally remembered she needed keys. Another thought hit her while she was lucid. _It's cold out there! _Running back to the kitchen, she pulled the jacket off the prone man still lying on the floor in the kitchen.

When she returned to the car, she found the man leaning heavily on the car. Sheer stubbornness seemed to be holding him upright. "Hi," he said breathlessly.

"Hi. What's your name?"

The man thought quietly; his face showing a bit of confusion again. He watched her open the door. "Bren... Brendan."

"Umm, okay, Brendan. We're gonna leave. But you gotta help me. I'm not too clear right now; it comes and goes. I'm not at all sure where we are right now. If you see something, let me know okay?"

"Mmmhmm."

She smiled, and closed the door. Sliding behind the wheel, Jessica started the car. _We're leaving! As soon as I figure out how to... D is for drive! Oh God, I'm slipping again. Focus, Jess!_ Turning the wheel, she steered the car towards the open end of the warehouse.

-------------------

TBC

Thanks so much for still reading. This will be wrapped up in the next chapter, and I promise not to keep you waiting too long! No, really!

And as for Jason Blackwell… It's funny how writing things for your self can come back to haunt you. He was a character I created in high school. Only he was a private investigator. Poor kid. Whumped the hell outta him too. Maybe I'll adapt one of those for Brendan… rusty gears turning


	10. Chapter 10

RL really, really sucks. Have no fear! Chapter 10 is here! This is heading so far into cliche, I can't stop it! Please be kind... LOL

Forgive me, I've never been to Washington, D.C., so my landmarks will probably be off. (The internet is good for most things, but not all.) In the movie, it's kind of implied that's where they are, but it's never specific. So for the purposes of this story, my NSA is located in D.C.

Hope that's not too much of a problem! Oh yeah, the phonetic Russian...

------------------------

Jon Harper loved his job. Not just because he was The Director. He had a talented staff, all hard workers, all dedicated to the safety of this country. Now, one was missing. Brendan Dean wasn't special, but he had witnessed the kidnapping of a girl. Jessica was a senator's daughter; there was mind-tampering involved.

The director shook his head. On paper, it would have made a great sci-fi novel. A telepathic interrogator, an agent with a phenomenal capacity for memory. Cases solved by instinct and an impeccable eye for detail. The bad guy was someone who could inflict a type of mind control, manipulating memory, and implanting new ones.

The report he had gathered earlier from Agent Merriweather and Acting-Agent MacAllister did nothing to ease his mind. Larkin tried to tie up the loose end known as Elise Thompson, by suggesting she drive off a highway to her death. There was no telling what length he would go to where the NSA agent was concerned. What bothered Harper the most was no call had been made to anyone. No demand for ransom or for use as a bargaining chip. Michael Welles thought maybe he was the target, but according to Freya, Larkin was losing control over his thoughts. Brendan had become some sort of obsession with the suspect, causing his focus to shift. But why?

Brendan Dean was his hardest working agent to a fault. The daily burden he carried was unseen by his co-workers, but Harper saw it. He saw it every time the younger man had a rough case, wondering if he had gone home at all. Yesterday was no different. Dean was never satisfied with the results. On all of his cases, he felt the case should have been closed sooner, that he could have done more, that he'd missed something. He had all the recognition and approval he needed, but his passion for perfection would kill him one day. _Really, I just wish he would sleep more. I'm the one who should have the sleepless nights He should have been safe at home, in bed, and not watching someone get taken at five in the morning._

To top it all off, the kidnapper had a personal vendetta against someone who tried to help. Michael Welles did his best to help those in need, yet the director suspected there were more sinister things happening on a higher level. Just the fact that Welles had an office in the same building made Harper wonder about the goings-on upstairs.

Harper also wondered briefly if Paget Dean knew her son was missing. She was a tough judge, but underneath it all, she cared deeply for her son. She had told him as much, once. But whenever Brendan's name was mentioned in their all-too-brief conversations, a frown would appear. If it was concern or disapproval, he wasn't sure. Chances are if she saw him now, that frown would deepen. He would tell the judge that her son's cases were always airtight, and that he was a thorough investigator. Harper knew she kept tabs on Brendan, but he also knew it sounded better coming from him.

The phone on the desk rang plaintively, bringing him out of his thoughts. _Direct line. That can't be good._ "Harper."

"Hey, Jon. It's Harris."

"Frank, good to hear your voice. How's Missing Persons treatin' you?"

The man on the other line sighed wearily. "Well, if people would quit misplacing themselves, it'd be a whole lot simpler. Listen," Harris sobered. "We got a call this morning from Trace. Your agent's cell phone was used to make contact."

All at once, the air in his office stilled. "Who made the call?"

"Jessica Bennett. Call wasn't too coherent."

"Got a location?"

"Not exactly," Harris said. Evidently, this case was keeping someone else up at night. "She was pretty cryptic. I'm sending over a copy of the conversation now. Maybe your specialists can decipher it."

"Thanks, Frank."

"Yeah, sure thing. This case has been a thorn in my side for almost two days. We work together a bit, maybe we can close this by the weekend."

"I'll do my level best, Harris. Thanks for letting me know." Ending the call, Harper glanced out of his window. The late afternoon sun weakly poked through an overcast sky. _Looks like snow._

--------------------

At the end of the day, the only thing Research had come up with was Larkin's connections in college. The link between Keith Larkin and Jason Blackwell held true, even though buried in gossip and misinformation.

"Maybe that was the reason he started out with," Merriweather said, eyes focused on the dregs of her cold tea.

"What do you mean?" Welles focused his attention on her; introspection was getting him nowhere.

"I think she means that it was about Blackwell, then when everything got out of hand, he started blaming everyone."

The doctor's brows rose as he nodded slowly. "Everyone that let him down. Everyone that didn't treat him the way he felt he should be treated."

"People! We've got a lead," Harper announced, approaching the cluster of desks at the center of the office. "I have a recording of a call made today from Jessica Bennett. The call was made from Agent Dean's phone." He slipped a disc into one of the computers.

"_Hi, Daddy? It's me, Jess."_

"_Jessica! Where are you? Are you okay? Are you–"_

"_Wait, wait, wait. I can't... Too many questions. I'm at a big place that's dusty and dirty. But it smells like soap."_ She laughs. _"How can it be so dirty if it smells clean?"_

"_I don't know, honey. But I'll come get you if you want."_ Martin Bennett tried to sound calm. _"Can you tell me where you are?"_

"_I'm in the office. Me and Jason and Keith and Adam, we were makin' a movie for class. Adam had to go home, and me and Jason went to Keith's place. Then I was here. I don't know what happened to Jason. Do you?"_

There was whispering on one end; the senator was being told what to ask next. _"Listen, Jess. I'm gonna come get you. Is there a window? Can you tell me what you see?"_

A whimper came across the line. _"There's, like, a giant watching us. I see his eyes at night. Is he looking for me?"_ Another whimper. _"Daddy? I don't know what to do about the other man. He's really sick, and Keith won't help him. Keith won't leave him alone. He keeps giving the guy a drug. I think it's umm... GH-something... B!, because the guy can't move so good."_

"_Jess! I need you to focus!"_ A new voice came on the line. _"Tell me about the giant."_

"_Okay, okay. You don't have to yell. I see a big tall building. And a... Hey. Keith's back. I'll call you later!"_

Then the line was dead.

"The FBI traced the call from Agent Dean's phone to a five mile radius." Harper pointed to a map of D.C. and Maryland. "Chances are, he's in the Capital City Market area, but there's a lot of ground to cover."

"Could explain the soap smell," Merriweather replied. "I'm on it."

"The giant she's talking about may be a billboard. We'll check it out."

"Thanks, Agent Morrison. Whose doing the background noises and–"

"Just burned a copy of your disc, sir. We're on it."

"Thank, you Mister Tennerman." Harper turned to Michael. "Doctor, if you'll join me in my office... Good work people!"

-----------------------

Brendan was freezing. He was sure he'd never been that cold before. He listened to the girl chatter away; she seemed to be focusing on driving. Sort of. Her hands were shaking badly, too. Brendan reached over, struggling to press the button for heat. The fan came on full blast and the air went from cool to warm in seconds.

"Sorry! I forgot. You did good, Brendan. How do you feel now?"

He tried to focus on words, but he was still a bit mixed up. "Not great," he whispered.

"We'll be fine soon, I promise. Look!" She excitedly patted his aching arm. "That's Jason's building!"

Brendan raised his eyes to the place she was pointing, but saw a sign for Metro. For a moment, the fog cleared in his head. "The Green Line to the Yellow Line, then I'll be home."

"What? The subway?" Jessica pulled the car into a parking lot. "I think we're around the university. Um, Gallad-Gallaudet, or something. This is where Jason works." She slipped out of her seat belt, and unlocked the door. "Will you be okay for a few minutes?"

"'kay." But Brendan's moment of clarity stayed with him. He would walk back to the Metro stairs and get home where it was safe. As soon as she was out of site, Brendan opened his door. The air was frigid as he left the car, stealing his breath away.

As he walked slowly down the sidewalk, he noticed a dark van driving slowly towards him. Panic shot through him like an electric jolt; he ducked into an alley and hid. From his vantage point, he watched the van pass. He continued down the alley, feet crunching on ice and snow. The cold sapped his energy faster than he thought it would; the edges of his vision darkened.

Just before he hit the icy ground, Brendan smelled pastrami. _Can't be. How lucky am I?_ Brendan crawled up and sat against a grimy door. With a weak fist, he banged on the door until he heard someone answer.

"Who is it? What do you want?"

The door opened, and Brendan was on his back, staring up at Lev Brodsky. "Sophia!" The short man pulled him inside to the warm kitchen. "Sophia! Pomogite pozhaluista!"

Brendan blinked slowly. "H-hey, M-m-mister B. Umm... Ya... ya plokha seebya... ch-choos...choostvooyoo."

"Da, syn. I can see you are not well. Sop–"

"What is it, Lev? All this yelling. Shto ne tak?" As she entered the kitchen, Sophia screamed. "Get him upstairs. Right now! Gregory! Come help your father."

Brendan opened one eye to see a very large version of Lev bending over him. "I got him, Pop. I'll take him to my room." Gregory scooped up the ailing man in his arms, and sidled over to the back stair.

"Yes, yes. Hurry," Sophia whispered. She began collecting blankets as they moved down the narrow hall.

Opening his eyes slightly, Brendan saw door after door. It reminded him of his filing system for memories. He suddenly felt sick. "Wait. Stop," he whispered urgently. Thankfully, the large man heard him and set him on his feet. Brendan felt large hands on his shoulders guiding to the bathroom. There was nothing in his stomach, but and the dry retching exhausted him. Closing his eyes, saw the battered doors of his memory. Pain seared through his head as he fell back against the warm wall of flesh.

Gregory lifted the sick man again, carrying him the short distance to the bedroom. Stripping off Brendan's damp clothing, Gregory asked his mother to leave for a moment. "Hey, Mister Dean. I need to get you cooled down."

"Already c-cold," Brendan said around chattering teeth. He closed his eyes and let darkness take him. Thankfully, his exhausted mind did not conjure up the memory he avoided for so many years.

"Mister Dean? Brendan?" Gregory was about to call his mother, when she appeared at his elbow. She had switched the blankets for damp towels. "He looks bad, Ma."

"Da. Your father is calling an ambulance." Sophia perched on the edge of the bed, wiping the extremely pale man down with the towels. She produced a thermometer from her pocket, and gently placed it in Brendan's mouth. "Please, mila. Close the shop. It will be a little early, but it must be done."

"Yes, Mama." Gregory hurried down the stair, to meet up with his father.

Sophia turned her attention to her guest. Pulling out the thermometer, she studied the numbers. "Oh my– Lev!"

"What's wrong, Sophia? The ambulance will be here soon." The butcher limped into the room. "It is beginning to snow."

"On meenya visokaya teempeeratoora. It is too high." She continued to wipe down the overheated skin. Watching him closely, she tried to ignore the flinch every time she touched Brendan with a cool towel.

Soon, sirens could be heard outside. Gregory ushered the paramedics upstairs. His parents moved out of the way, allowing the medical personnel to work. The woman knelt down next to the bed, taking the patient's pulse.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"He is Brendan Dean. He is customer."

"Okay, can you tell me what happened?"

"I find him at back door. I don't know how long he is there, but I think not long."

"Carrie, his temp is 103. Let's get him out of here." Her companion announced when a beep sounded.

"Yeah. Let's get him downstairs." They carefully carried him down the narrow stairs to a gurney waiting below.

"Lev, you go with him. As ta rozh na, lubov moya."

------------------

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Brendan began writhing on the gurney. His fever had gone up, and he was rushed into another room. Lev could only stand and watch and wait. He listened carefully to the nurses' chatter, catching news about the sick man who had been rushed into the ER. They had to scrounge to find a few cooling blankets; hypothermia was their biggest concern this time of year.

"Sir? Is there anyone we should call?"

Lev shrugged slightly. "I do not know. He works in area, I think. I see him occasionally."

"Okay. Do you mind having a seat for now?" The nurse went to check other paperwork.

Another nurse came running around the corner, waving a sheet of paper. "The police ran that Brendan Dean's fingerprints. Turns out he's an agent for the government. He's been missing for two days."

"What is this?" The butcher rose quickly, moving over to the station. "He is missing?"

"Yeah. There's a number to call."

"Please call! There is girl who sometimes comes with him. She will know."

"Yes, Mister Brodsky. We're calling now."

"Is good. Is good. I will wait here," he said, watching the sliding doors for a familiar face.

---------------------

Michael Welles entered his office, tired and restless. Sitting at his desk, he put his head in his hands. A janitor backed into the office. _Is it that late?_ Welles glanced over at his watch. "Hey, it's okay. I don't need–"

The janitor turned around. "Hello, Michael. Long time, no see." Keith Larkin removed his hat and pushed the cart out the door.

_:You can't be here! How–?:_

"I'll answer plenty of your questions later." Larkin closed the door. "Right now, I'm doing the talking."

--------------------

Okay, we're in the home stretch! Can you believe it? I know. A cliffie. I rarely do those, but this chapter was getting long! Thanks so much for hanging in there!


	11. Chapter 11

Woot! I wanted to wrap this up in this chapter, but there were too many loose ends. So there will be a chapter 12. Thanks everyone for the R&R, and for still reading.

BTW, please forgive any errors in medical stuff.

--------------------

The new patient gave them some trouble. He wouldn't stay under the cooling blankets. He refused to stay calm, and it seemed he didn't want to answer any questions. After two hours of fighting off four nurses, Brendan Dean finally exhausted himself into a fitful slumber.

"It's about time," Jenna huffed. As a nurse, she had seen this sort of thing many times. Patients too disoriented to realize that they were being helped, not harmed. The basic survival instinct was always intact, no matter how technologically advanced the human race becomes.

She held the thermometer in his ear, waiting for the tell-tale beep. Studying the shivering man, Jenna saw bruises on his throat and bare shoulders. Obviously, someone tried to hold him down, and he had fought valiantly, judging by the bruises on his wrists and legs.

"Well, kiddo, looks like your fever's gained some ground," she said as she pulled up the cooling blanket to his chin. Grabbing a nearby towel, the nurse dabbed at Brendan's sweat-drenched face.

"Hey, Jen. Brought those ice packets you asked for. He finally asleep?"

"Yeah. Man, for bein' so scrawny, he sure is strong." Jenna shook her head as she placed the ice carefully around the patient's body. "Fever's being pretty stubborn. We get blood work back?"

"Nah, of course not. I'll go check on it. Doc Levinson should be–"

"Ladies! What have we got?"

"Speak of the devil," the other nurse chuckled. "I'll check with Marie about the missing persons fax, too."

"Afternoon, Doctor Levinson. Hey, thanks, Laura," Jenna nodded to the RN as she exited the area. "Patient was highly agitated and disoriented. I'm sure it's the result of a very high fever. We've started an IV, which he's managed to dislodge only once."

"Any blood work?"

"Not yet. But I'm thinking at least one drug is in his system. He's got a lot of bruises, but no other injuries. Slightly malnourished, dehydration... Poor guy's gonna have a whopper of a headache when he wakes up."

"Yeah, no kidding. All right, let's get that blood work back, and we can go from there." The doctor frowned thoughtfully. "What's his name?"

"According to the guy out in the waiting area, umm, Mister Brodsky, his name's Brendan Dean."

The doctor nodded, tapping his finger against his chin. "Okay, I'm gonna talk to his friend. Let me know the second that blood work comes back." He left the restless patient in search of some answers.

When he stepped into the waiting area, he saw a short, round man pacing near the door. "Mister Brodsky. I'm Doctor Levinson. Can we sit down?"

Lev nodded slowly, assessing the taller man. "Da. Yes. Levinson. Is good name." He grinned. "How is Brendan?"

"He'll need lots of rest, but I'm pretty sure he'll be okay. We're trying to get his fever under control right now. Have you known Mister Dean for long?"

The Russian butcher shrugged. "Maybe three years. He comes for lunch sometimes. That one does not eat as he should."

Levinson smiled. "I noticed that. Do you know what happened to him?"

"I do not. I see him a few days ago. He like pastrami sandwich, so I give, but he does not look well."

"Doctor Levinson?" Marie called from behind the nurses' station. "Blood work's back, and I found something on the fax regarding your patient."

The doctor nodded succinctly, and smiled at the anxious man. "I'll let you know what we find out, okay?"

"Da. Yes. My wife... She kill me if I return without seeing him."

"I understand. If his family doesn't show up soon, I'll let you look in on him. We'll get him settled first, then I'll come get you."

"Is fine. He makes me worry."

Levinson chuckled sympathetically, and moved toward the circular station. "What have you got Marie?"

"FBI sent this out yesterday. Must be pretty special."

"Yeah. Where's the blood work results?"

"Here. Looks like Jenna was right. Whatever the drug was, it seems to have metabolized."

"Thanks. I'll go over this. Is he settled in a room?"

The nurse shook her head. "Not yet."

"Okay. I'll take care of it."

"We're calling that number. Maybe someone else will know him."

Levinson added the results to the patient's chart, nodding slowly. He walked back to Brendan's side, watching the nurse. "He wake up at all?"

"Not really. Keeps talking to someone named Freya. No change in his fever."

"Those blankets working at all?"

Jenna shrugged. "Well it hasn't gone up, so maybe they _are_ working." She glanced up from her watch. "His pulse is almost back to normal. That his blood work?"

"Yeah. Looks like he was given some sort of hallucinogen, along with something that looks like ketamine."

"That's horrible. Seeing things and not being able to move."

"Let's get him to a room. Marie's calling on that FBI bulletin."

"Well," Jenna placed the patient's wandering hand back under the blanket. "If anything, there's a very concerned man waiting for him in the lobby who'll take care of him."

---------------

"Mister Blackwell? There's someone to see you."

"Audrey, I'm in the middle of something. Tell them to email me, or whatever."

_Still angry, I see._ "I hate to break it to you, but it's your fiance."

"What?" Jason Blackwell came bursting out of his office. Shock settled over him as he closed his mouth. Jessica Bennett had walked out of his life with his ex-best friend days ago. They had a bad argument, and she walked away. "Jess? What are– Are you all right?"

She gathered a very large jacket around her shoulders. "I– could you help us?" _Come on, Jess! Form a sentence!_ "Me and Brendan took Keith's car and got away."

"What–" Jason held out his hands to touch her, but she flinched away. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Jess. Come with me." He tried to speak as calmly as possible. She finally took his hand, moving toward his office. "Audrey? Can you get us something warm to drink? Thanks."

As they entered his office, Jason took a closer look at his best friend. Her eyes had dark circles, she had bruises on her neck, and wore the same clothes as the last time he saw her. Jessica looked like she'd been through all nine levels of hell to get back.

"Oh, Jase. I'm so glad you're here! Did you know Keith is a bad person? He did something to Brendan – Oh no! _Brendan!_"

"Calm down, Jess. Who's Brendan?" he asked, easing her down to the couch.

"He's like this Secret Service guy, and Keith liked him better than me. Why did you leave me?"

Jason blinked at the shift in conversation. She seemed like a junkie coming down off a high, trembling in his arms, and eyes that wouldn't track. Every noise made her flinch, and he couldn't get her to focus. "Please, Jess. What happened?"

She looked on the verge of tears, when she finally focused on him. "Brendan's really sick. We gotta help him, but I left him outside. Too heavy. It's freezing out there! Bring him inside, okay?" Jessica stood and swayed violently. "Whoa! I don't... I don't feel so good."

Grabbing her arms, he lowered her back down to the couch. "You stay here, kid. I'll get him."

She pouted and smiled. "Not a kid." Jessica snatched his hand. "Jase, listen. He's kind of skittish right now, okay? I think – Keith gave him – us – something."

Blackwell nodded quickly. "Don't worry. I'll get him. You just lie down." He rose and ran out of his office. "Audrey," he tossed over his shoulder. "Back in a sec. Keep her there!" Jason disappeared behind closing elevator doors.

The bored guard in the lobby looked up to see one of his employers running pell-mell through the lobby and out the main doors. Skidding to a halt on the snow-covered sidewalk, he watched Blackwell scan the street. _What is going on today?_ He rose to assist his boss, watching the man take off down and across the moderately busy street.

Jason spotted the black car, looking out of place, pristine and a faint dusting of snow rather than caked like the rest of the cars on the street. Seeing the car was empty, Jason scanned the street looking for a possibly staggering figure.

Nothing.

Running back inside, he was vaguely aware of the security guard watching from the window. "Sorry, Clint. False alarm." He stopped suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Hey, did you see anyone walking outside with no coat on?"

The guard smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, sir. Didn't notice."

"It's okay. Thanks."

Returning to his office, Jason found his secretary rummaging around in a closet. "Why don't we have blankets here?" Audrey asked herself. "There could be a disaster–"

"Audrey, don't worry about it. I'm taking her home," he said as he closed the door to his inner office. Jason perched on the edge of the couch, watching his best friend sleep. _How had it come to this, Keith? When did you become so desperate? Why couldn't I stop him?_

"Jason?"

"Yeah, Jess. I'm here."

"Remind me to thank Mister Richardson."

"Your Psych professor?"

"Yeah," she drawled. Jessica lifted a shaky hand to his face. "I did some extra research on kidnapping and conditioning. When the drugs wore off, I pretended to still be under the influence. Once Brendan showed up, he forgot about me, so I had less doses. All that stuff on conditioning and drug use came in handy, and I figured Keith wouldn't know about that."

"Pretty good gamble, Jess. But –"

She shook her head and curled up tightly. "The things he made me see... I –"

"I know, honey. I've seen them too," Jason whispered, trying to forget after all these years. It was Keith's way of controlling people, in case they didn't cooperate readily. "Are you okay? You want to go to the hospital?"

She looked at him again, pain and sorrow and worry filled her eyes. "Do you think Brendan will be okay?"

Jason had started to believe there was no one named Brendan with her. "I dunno. Maybe he went home?"

She closed her eyes remembering something he said about the subway. "Maybe." Soon, she was asleep again.

Fishing out his cell phone, Jason called his future father-in-law.

------------------

Ants.

They were all ants. Here to do his bidding, whenever and whatever he wished. Keith Larkin sat on the steps of a certain non-descript building, watching his driver chase down a police officer. The woman was enjoying her sandwich until he came confessing to a crime.

"...I really did kidnap the senator's daughter. I know where Jessica Bennett is! Are you listening? I took her..."

She tried to shoo him away, but the man persisted. Finally, she slowly re-wrapped her sandwich, as if giving the man enough time to run away. When he didn't leave, she gave him a thunderous look, and finally pushed him against the cruiser. Pulling out her handcuffs, she told him his rights and threw him in the back seat.

The officer's partner returned, confusion all over his face. She explained the situation, and he shook his head. "Let's go. We're gonna have to eat at the station."

They drove off, leaving Larkin to laugh in the relative quiet. _So easy!_ Brushing off the light dusting of snow on his clothes, he walked up to the building, flashing another man's badge. Ignoring the building pain in his head, he made the guard think he was seeing a missing agent.

"Hey there, Mister Dean! I thought you were missing?"

"Nope. Just holed up in my place. Wasn't feeling well."

"You could say that again, sir. You ran outta here the other day looking like death warmed over." The guard nodded, jerking his head toward the elevators. "Good to see you're feeling better."

"Thanks." As he waited for the elevator, Larkin saw the guard looking quizzically at him.

"Sir? Sorry. I'm just wondering, why come so late? You could've waited–"

"A case, Perkins. Wanted to get a file without all the questions. I'm sure you understand." As if on cue, the elevator dinged. Larkin hurried on, using the pilfered key card and pressing the proper floor number.

The doors opened, depositing him in a nearly vacant office. Listening to the minds, he knew there were at least six people somewhere in the offices. However, two minds were closed off to him. So Freya and Michael are here. This is about to get very interesting.

An office door opened, emitting two women and a man. _The man is Jon Harper, and the petite one is Merriweather. The other must be – yes, it is – Freya_. Larkin's mind reviewed images from Agent Dean's memory. _Handy thing, collecting thoughts._ Pain stabbed him through his left eye as he tried to manipulate his appearance again. _Too many minds right now!_ Larkin ducked into a cubicle. He spotted a janitorial cart nearby, and a ball cap, rolling toward the occupied offices. _Oh, the cliche! We'll see if this actually works..._

The two women said their good byes, and headed for the elevator. Freya stopped, glancing around the office. _:Can she hear me?:_ As the doors closed, she glanced in Larkin's direction, but didn't seem to see him. _I must be quick about this. _He made his way through the office, hoping he appeared to be janitorial staff.

Harper collected his briefcase and exited his office, tossing a 'G'night!' towards Welles' office. His mind was an organized jumble of reports and images. One was an image of a giant billboard. _They know? How –_

"Hey, it's okay. I don't need–"

"Hello, Michael. Long time, no see." Keith Larkin removed his hat and pushed the cart out the door.

_:You can't be here! How–?:_

"I'll answer plenty of your questions later." Larkin closed the door. "Right now, I'm doing the talking."

Welles set his feet firmly on the floor, preparing himself for a mental battle. "Nice coat. I'm sure Brendan Dean is missing it."

The pale man before him shrugged. "Perhaps. I'm sure he's too warm to miss it." Larkin pulled up a chair to face Michael Welles. His former mentor looked tired and drawn; Larkin was flattered that he had kept someone up at night. "Surprised to see me?"

It was Welles' turn to shrug. "To be honest, a little." He steepled his fingers, peering thoughtfully at Larkin. "Why haven't you gone? You could be far away from here, and no one would've known."

"True. But where's the fun in that?" His eyes closed suddenly against the pain slicing through his brain.

"Still having those headaches, huh?" _:I warned you about this, Keith. You never listen.:_

Larkin smiled mirthlessly. "I only listen to good advice. You have no idea what it's like."

"No, I don't," Welles said sadly. _:I'd rather not be a telepath.:_ "But, I am a very good listener." Michael tilted his head, observing the other man. Larkin occasionally mumbled to himself before, but today, he not only mumbled, he also seemed to be watching something else in the room.

"Brendan Dean was your best student yet, Michael. But he still wasn't good enough to beat me," Larkin murmured.

Welles' brows scrambled up to his hairline. "Mister Dean is an agent of the NSA." _:What did you do to him?: _"He has no abilities, just an outstanding memory."

The telepath gave a wolfish grin. "Not after what I did to him." Larkin's head suddenly jerked to the left, as if something had suddenly appeared behind the researcher's shoulder. _:How did he get here? Wait. No. He's not here. That's not Brendan. He is not in my head!:_

"... do? Keith! Look at me! What did you do?" _:Are you listening? Keith!:_

"Leave me alone! Stay out of my head!"

The doctor tried to understand what was happening. Freya had told him once that hearing so many voices at once would overwhelm her in such a way, she could only retreat into her own head. Larkin's sight was turned inward; he was hallucinating something in the office. "I'm not in your head, Keith," he said quietly. "I can help you, but I need to know what's going on."

"That name again. She's working for you, isn't she? You couldn't find me on your own, so you needed a bloodhound to sniff me out." He let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. Standing abruptly, he backed toward a corner of the office. His head pounded with the beat of his heart. The office was filled with images of people from which he had stolen knowledge and memory and thought.

_:Yep. Just like I thought. You're losin' it.:_ Brendan said.

_:My question is when did he have it?:_ Elise said.

Laughter.

_:I don't think he's comin' outta this one whole.:_ Bad Guy Number Two said. _:My name is Ramsey. God!:_

More laughter.

Larkin watched as the younger Brendan stood beside Welles, arms crossed, lopsided smile.

"What are you looking at!" He lunged for the invisible being, and Michael grabbed him.

"Keith! Focus!" He shook the other man, trying to get him to look him in the eye. "Where are they? Tell me about Jessica and Brendan!"

That did the trick. "No! They're mine!"

Suddenly, Michael Welles understood where he had gone wrong all those years ago. He thought the man wanted to belong, to have recognition. Instead, Larkin wanted to consume and destroy all those who crossed his path at the right time. "Keith. You cannot possess another person. You cannot possess their minds. They are not things to be collected." _:Freya! Oh, God! Can you hear me?:_

"Stop saying her name!" Larkin wriggled out of the slighter man's grip. "She's not here. I am!"

"We can talk about this –"

"Stop stalling!" Recovering his ground, he came nose to nose with Welles. "I will have your mind!"

_:No. You won't.: _Welles thought simply. He had too many years to prepare for this.

Larkin grabbed the doctor by the shoulders, completing the steps to enter his mind.

"You won't get in, Keith." Welles could almost feel the desperate beating against the mental wall he had erected. Larkin was stronger than he had expected, but unstable. He could see an angry vein working its way across Larkin's face.

Suddenly, as quickly as it began, Larkin's attack stopped. Michael opened eyes he didn't know he closed. The other man stood staring blankly, mumbling. "She's coming..."

-------------------

"What the hell are you talking about, Perkins?" Terri Merriweather crossed her arms, looking a bit angry.

"I said Agent Dean just went upstairs. Said he needed a file." _:Pretty sure it was him, Agent. I'm not stupid. Been working here long enough to know –:_

"No one's doubting you, Mister Perkins," Freya replied, holding out her hands. "Let's go, Terri!" They ran back to the elevators.

_:Freya! Oh, God! Can you hear me?:_

It was Michael, reaching out to her. :_I'm coming, Larkin!:_

-----------------------

One more chappy to go. Wow. This was hard, but I can honestly say it's been rewarding. Thanks to everyone for their support!


	12. Chapter 12

I have to thank everyone for reading and reviewing and kicking me in the pants to get this done. Hopefully, the next won't take a year to write! One more chapter left after this one. got kinda long...

A/N: You know, so many things come to light when you watch something over again. Yes, yes. Watched the movie yet again and found out some interesting things. Let's just say, for the purpose of this story, I've chosen to set it in Washington, D.C. In the movie, it is New York. Oh well.

-------------------

Chapter 12

Jon Harper entered his home, kissed his wife, toed off his shoes, and sat in his favorite chair. Exactly twelve minutes after, his phone rang. With a great sigh, he answered. "Harper."

_ "It's Frank. Your agent showed up at HUH a few hours ago." _

"Howard?"

_"Yeah. Just about in your backyard. Contact there is a Doctor Levinson." _

Harper leaned forward in his chair. "So if Brendan is there–"

_"No sign of the girl. Dean found his way to a deli in City Market. The owner knows him, and called an ambulance."_

"My people have been searching the area," he said quietly. The director pinched the bridge of his nose.

_"Yeah, we have a team there, too." _ As if on cue, a phone could be heard ringing in the background. _"Talk to you soon, Harper."_

"Thanks, Frank. Again." As soon as he ended the call, another came through. "Harper."

_"This is Agent Connors, sir. We found the place, but no sign of Agent Dean."_

"I just got news from the FBI. They found him at Howard." Harper checked his watch. "Is Merriweather with you?"

_"No, sir. I think they're still at the office."_

"Thanks, Connors. Head back there, and let the FBI clean up." The director hung up and began dialing Merriweather. The call went straight to voice mail. "This is Harper. I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. I'm heading over to Howard University Hospital. Bring Freya."

---------------------

Terri Merriweather thought of herself more or less an assistant rather than a field agent. She liked digging up clues and contributing to cases. Better rewards, she had surmised. Working with Brendan Dean was the best part of her day. They played memory games with the file room, past cases, and on rare downtime, the office. Her memory was good, but Brendan amazed her. Minute details of objects after seeing them for only seconds.

Many thought he was Harper's favored agent, but if they only knew what he did to solve cases, they might change their minds. Then Freya came along. She was the first person to keep Brendan in check, and the first one who could keep up with his lightening quick mind. For once, in the few years Merriweather had known Brendan, the man actually looked better. Freya would show up sometimes at his desk with a sandwich, or a cookie, anything to keep him going. He was still too skinny, but at least he wasn't deathly pale all the time.

Merriweather thumbed the safety on her gun. This – _person_ – took away her friend. Peeking around the edge of the glass doors, she quickly scanned the office. Most of the lights were out, but she could see Welles' door slightly ajar. Someone paced back and forth in behind the door, and Merriweather could only guess it was the perpetrator.

She watched Freya move in front of her._:I can't protect you like this! If anything happens to you–_

"Don't worry about me, Terri. He's not going to do anything." The telepath seemed sure of her words as she stepped forward. "Michael?"

_:Can't talk now!:_

The person pacing behind the door stopped, peaking outside, looking directly at Freya. "I see you, Miss McAllister." The door opened further. "Please join us."

Merriweather reached out to grab Freya. "Wait! You can't just go in there! You don't know what–"

The younger woman smiled sadly. "It doesn't matter, Terri. I'll find out where Brendan is, and you'll go get him. Right now, Michael needs me."

Frowning, the agent let her go. _:I'll be right here if you need me._

"This is all very touching, but I am on a schedule!"

While Merriweather flinched, Freya saw inside the perp's mind. He was distracted enough to let her get a glimpse. Fragmented thoughts and images assaulted her vision. "Don't worry about me, Terri. Call the director, call Connors. Michael and I will take care of him."

_:I'll do it, but I'm not happy about it._ The agent holstered her weapon, and turned to leave. Merriweather only looked back once before she left the office.

Freya nodded quickly, keeping her mind clear. Moving deliberately into Welles' office, she tried to shield her mind from the constant rambling and delusions coming from a new and different enemy. She had spent years thinking she was crazy, only to find out she had an amazing ability.

Larkin had the same ability, enhanced by an obsession to achieve success. His talent allowed him to manipulate thoughts and memories, yet it was driving him insane. Larkin created a unique hell known only to himself, his delusional memories manifesting themselves as his victims.

"Michael? Are you all right?"

"Don't speak to him. He's mine!"

Freya assessed Larkin, trying to ignore the apparitions surrounding him, taunting him. A little boy she could only guess was Brendan, was the loudest. "What do you want, Keith? You've got what you wanted, so what now?"

_:Freya? What are you doing? You need to leave._

"I'd appreciate it if you only speak to me, Michael. Miss McAllister here is trying to annoy me."

_:She can't annoy you if you're the one being annoying._ The boy sneered, a familiar smirk curving his lips.

Larkin's inner arguments were distracting, particularly when they were actually people arguing. He turned his fractured attention to Welles, who staggered against his desk.

_:Don't worry, Freya. Just focus on–_

"Stop it!"

Freya could almost see Larkin's mind sharpen. He had found his focus, and all the apparitions disappeared except for the young Brendan. _Why was he so significant? Why only his taunting upset Larkin, and none of the others?_

_:He was my greatest failure._ Larkin said ruefully. _:Brendan was a precious gift._ His thoughts scattered, and reformed picturing an egg.

The telepath watched his thoughts closely as the brightly colored egg drifted over to Michael Welles. And promptly entered his head, right between the eyes. Freya blinked twice, not sure if she was seeing it correctly, or succumbing to his delusions.

"What?" Larkin sneered. "Never seen an Easter egg before?" Another egg appeared. This time, he thought about Brendan, an image of the agent lying on a bed, pale and feverish and drugged, making her knees weak. An egg dropped into his head, also, however, Brendan had a reaction. He struggled against hands currently stronger than him.

_"Not mine!" Brendan murmured over and over. "Not mine!"_

Larkin smiled wolfishly. "I'm sending you on an Easter egg hunt."

Michael Welles crumpled to his knees as his last defenses fell. _:Freya! You know what you have to do.:_ He slumped against his desk, barely conscious.

Freya's own defenses were waning as her thoughts scattered. How many more friends would she lose to this mad man? Raising her chin, she took a step closer to Larkin. For a moment, she thought about Elise Thompson and the questions they had used to draw out information.

"Ah, Elise. How is she?" Larkin's colorless eyes bore down on Freya. "I take it she's still alive."

"Alive, yes. Happy, no." _This is taking too much time! Where is Terri? Is she safe? What about Brendan? Is he – _ Suddenly, things started dropping into place.

"Ha! It seems Brendan was right!" Larkin clapped his hands together, his silver eyes gleaming in the dim light. "He said you were quick, now I believe him. Such a _gorgeous_ mind! That beautiful memory of his –"

"He left something behind," the boy whispered sotto voce. "It's a secret."

_:And once I have Brendan, I'll have the secret._

" i Enough /i from the both of you," Larkin snapped. "It's no secret, but if it makes you worry more, the better. You just have to find him first."

_:Enough from us? Enough from you!:_ Freya ventured another step closer, reaching out mentally. _:Where is he?:_

The white-haired man shook his head. "It's not going to be that –" Images flashed in his head of missing people. Some dead, some barely alive, their minds gone. Larkin's bland face betrayed him. "How –"

Freya took another step closer, and Larkin flinched. His manipulations were crumbling, and his thoughts became a bit more erratic. As he tried to gain control, the boy moved closer to him. She wanted to understand how these – ghosts – were being projected around the room.

_ :Not real.:_ Welles whispered.

_:I know that, but why am I seeing them? Wait a minute.:_ Freya recalled how she entered the office. _:He's in my mind right now!:_

Brendan smiled that lopsided smile she knew so well. "You have to wake up now."

With a gasp, Freya's eyes snapped open. She found herself face to face with Keith Larkin, his hands framing her face. For a moment, surprise registered in his eyes. Defensively, she flung out her arms, hitting the man's hands away.

He slowly placed his hands behind his back, smiling coldly. "Yes. You _are_ very smart. Michael was wise in choosing his protege."

Checking his thoughts once more, Freya saw little Brendan holding an ornate egg. This one was meant especially for her. Once she accepted the object, the boy faded away. Distantly, she heard Keith Larkin's laughter.

-------------------

"May I see him?" Lev Brodsky nearly pleaded with the nurse at the front desk. It was important for him to see the young man; he had to know Brendan Dean was all right.

Marie smiled sympathetically. "I'll check. He's been pretty restless, you know. Maybe you can calm him down, okay?"

Lev did not like sound of that. It was true that Brendan didn't sleep well, if he slept at all. Many afternoons, the young man would come into his store concerned and distracted. Until recently, Brendan would come alone and pick at his food. Now, he brought a young girl with him who made him eat more than two bites. Occasionally, she would prod him enough to eat a whole sandwich.

Today, it was Lev's turn to worry over the boy. He watched the nurse walk through the swinging doors, and tried to look inside. The only thing he saw were nurses rushing around a bed with ice packs and blankets. Suddenly, there was a crash. A woman's voice could be heard telling someone to lie back down. Lev marched through the doors before anyone could stop him. "Yzveenee? Please excuse me. Can I help?"

Brendan immediately stopped struggling, and blinked myopically at the shorter man. "Mister B? Can you– umm... I need to go now. Tell them to let me go, okay?"

Lev stepped around Marie, the desk nurse. Reaching out, he held Brendan's hands. "No, no, little one. You must stay and rest." He smoothed away sweat-matted hair, wincing at the unbearably hot skin under his fingertips. "Come, now. Lay back down. I will be here." The butcher looked at each nurse, confirming his statement. When they nodded, he continued. "You have fever that is very bad. These nice nurses are trying to help, and you are being difficult."

Recognition dawned, and Brendan smiled. "Hospital, right? Not back... there." He suddenly slumped over; Lev had an armful of frail and shivering man. They lay him down on the bed, and he took a deep breath. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Is all right, Brendan. Eedee spat. I will be here."

"Can't. He's still there," Brendan said, eyes dark and haunted. Curling up on his side, he kept a hold of the Russian's hand. Something had to ground him, keep his mind from floating away.

"Who is– who are you speaking of? There is no one here, little one. Teb ye po moch?"

Brendan closed his eyes against the brightening lights. "Don't let me fall asleep."

"Nyet! You must! Do you want to stay in these cold blankets forever? I think not. Pa ra spat."

The nurses fussed more over the patient. They were talking about a car accident and more triage. "Sorry. Gotta turn up the lights. Marie?"

"I know, I know. Get Doc Levinson. Hey, I'll find a room for him."

Jen snorted. "Good luck with that. Tour bus accident this morning."

"Aww, crud. I'll find something."

"Aww, crud? Marie, you've been hanging out in Pediatrics too long." Jen tucked another ice pack behind Brendan, making him shiver more. "Do what you can, Marie. Sorry, Mister Dean, but we have to get you cooled down."

"Ya ho choo peet," Brendan said sleepily.

Lev smiled fondly, gently rubbing the back of the younger man's hand. "He say he is thirsty."

The nurse nodded quickly. "Sorry, he can only have a few ice chips. The IV needs to work it's magic."

"I will wash hands. Be right back." Lev felt the intense stare at his back; Brendan needed him to come back. He grabbed an empty cup, and headed for the corridor. When he returned, he found Brendan clutching his blanket tightly.

"He'll be right back, sir. Please calm down." The nurse tried to soothe her patient, however it seemed to make him more anxious.

"I am here. Ne boysa, vnuk."

"Not scared, deydushka," Brendan murmured.

Feeding him an ice chip, the butcher chuckled. "I did not know your Russian had improved. When did this happen?"

"Read a book."

Lev pulled over a chair. "You. Come to my shop, can barely stand, and frighten my zhena. Now you say you have read a book and now know Russian."

"Nem no go," Brendan said with a fraction of his usual impish smile. "I can remember things."

"Well, whatever the case, you need to rest and–"

"Yeah. Fever. Got it." Brendan knew in his heart that if he went to sleep, Larkin would haunt his dreams. He barely heard Nurse Jen tell him not to worry so much, or the round butcher tell him to go to sleep. Honestly, if he thought about it, he wasn't sure when he'd memorized Russian. When had he had time to read something? Trying to think back over the last few days, he found his memories blocked. Closing his eyes, Brendan tried to ignore the disarray of his formerly highly organized memories. The doors he had carefully constructed were nearly destroyed, imaginary glass from broken picture frames scattered across the floor of his hall.

_:What a mess._ In order to make sense of anything that happened to him, Brendan knew he would have to reorganize. Starting at the far end of the hall, he began the task of restructuring each room. In his mind, he saw a new door wedged in between the damaged doors. _:That's not mine.:_ Approaching it slowly, he opened the door.

Agent Brendan Dean was not prepared for the images that flooded his memory.

-----------------------

Closing her eyes, Freya examined the egg carefully. These were memories, more specifically Larkin's memories. Question was, which ones?

"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

Freya opened her eyes to see Larkin crouching in the corner. He was pale and sickly with dark bruises under his eyes. The strain of maintaining everything was coming to fruition. "You can't do this, Keith. You have to let it go."

"Never! They're mine, and I can do with them what ever I want," he said quietly. "I collected them. Now, I give them as gifts." The smile he gave was genuinely happy.

The telepath was outraged. _:You can't give thoughts and memories to other people!:_

"I can, and I have. Nothing you can do about it."

"Freya?" Michael said weakly. According to his thoughts, the doctor was in great pain. He had began to rebuild his defenses, only to have them fail due to the pain. "What happened?"

"Our friend here is leaving specific memories with his victims."

"Easter egg?" Welles shifted leaning forward. "Interesting. Something that represents a fragile thing, easily broken."

"Which means it can open in their minds at anytime." She glanced over at Welles. "I– _we_ need to find Brendan."

Freya focused her energy on Larkin. _:Where is he?:_

_:I don't know.:_ "I'll never tell you." Larkin steadied himself against the wall. He was quickly losing this battle, and he could feel it. _:Not much longer now.:_

"What are you talking about?" Freya closed her eyes and broke a small piece off the egg. Her senses were flooded with the memory as it unfolded.

"I'm sorry, Keith. There's nothing we can do. It's inoperable. What are you doing?" The doctor unfortunate enough to deliver the news, ended up an amnesia patient.

"I need a second opinion."

"What is it Keith? A tumor? Cancer? You're dying, and you're leaving little bits of yourself in all your victims."

"What?" Welles struggled to rise from the floor. The pain in his head had receded enough for him to string more than one thought together. "And these are selective memories?"

"Looks like they've been chosen for certain people."

Larkin smiled. "So _ very_ smart! I bet Brendan can't wait to see you." He slid down to the floor, looking worse than before. Indeed, he was dying. _:It's happening so soon!:_

-------------------------

When Terri Merriweather got downstairs, she heard her phone beep. Someone had left a message.

_"This is Harper. I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. I'm heading over to Howard University Hospital. Bring Miss McAllister, please."_

_Did they find him? Oh, God. Is he okay?_She headed back for the elevators, taking a deep breath. Hopefully, her friend was found, and relatively unharmed.

Entering the dark office, she saw the open door of Michael Welles' office. Larkin was on the floor, Freya standing over him. _Was he down? Where was Welles?_

"Terri! Stay where you are!" The agent heard Freya's voice cry out. It still unnerved her that the newest addition to the NSA was a telepath. _:At least she's on our side._

She tried to find a good vantage point in case the situation lost control. Watching intently, Merriweather saw Welles leaning heavily on his desk. She could barely hear what was being said, making out only some words. Then she heard Freya scream, and Welles flying backwards into the wall behind him.

The agent made her move and ran into the office. Larkin stood over Freya, strangling her, laughing at her frantic pleas to stop. Then there was silence. A battle was being waged mentally. Larkin struggled and finally let her go, grabbing his head.

"You won't get away with this, Larkin!" Freya pushed him against the wall, searching for a weapon, but Larkin was faster.

Merriweather spotted the blue-black metal, and raised her own weapon. "Drop it, Larkin!"

Hearing the agent's voice, Freya turned around. _:Oh no!:_ Looking back, she saw Larkin stand, waving his empty hands. _:He's gotten to her!:_"No, Terri! It's not real!" Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as she monitored his thoughts while watching it play out differently.

The perp aimed his weapon straight at Freya; Terri could see the bullet loading into the chamber. "I said drop it!" With a loud, echoing sound, Larkin shot past the other telepath taking out Welles.

"_No!"_ Both Freya and Terri yelled. The agent aimed true, drawing a bead on Larkin's heart. The last thing she remembered is the flash of the muzzle as her bullet found its target.

Keith Larkin was dead.

----------------------

"Yes, sir. No, sir. This isn't a joke." Jason paced his office waiting for his– what? Friend? Girlfriend? Fiance? – to emerge from his private bathroom. Audrey had a set of workout clothes in her car, and scrambled to get them for the boss' sweetie. The phone was hot against his ear as he tried to convince a U.S. senator his only daughter had been found. _Well, she escaped anyway._

"Why would she come to you? You're the one–"

"No. Sir. That was a lie. I can't really explain it."

_ "Where is she? Why didn't she call herself? I swear, Jason–"_

"Please, Senator. Just come down to my office. And try to avoid the press, okay? She's pretty mixed up right now."

There was a sigh on the other end. _ "What do you mean mixed up?"_

Oh my God! Are you serious? "Look, Martin. She's probably been drugged, I'm sure she hasn't had a meal in days, and she's been running around in this weather. She is a little out of it." Jason rubbed his temple with his free hand. "The sooner you get here the better. She should feel better in her own clothes, and be around people she knows." _Yep. Thanks Mister Richardson._

_"You're right. I'll be there as soon as I can. But I have to tell the FBI."_

I'm sure they know already. "I'll be waiting, Martin." As he cradled the phone, Jessica stepped out, looking more her old self. She went directly into his open arms with a smile. "So glad you're okay," he said, voice faltering a little.

Jessica had never known her boyfriend to get emotional about anything.

She took it as a good sign.

------------

"What are you saying?" Merriweather looked from the body to Freya to Welles and back. "I saw it! Plain as day. He was strangling you, pulled a gun, shot Doctor Welles." _Was this how Elise felt after she realized she was planning on driving off a cliff?_

Welles came forward placing his hands on Terri's stiff shoulders. "Please don't worry, about it, Terri. He got what he wanted. We'll call the director—

"Oh!" The shorter agent let out a scream. "They found Brendan! He's at Howard."

The world around Freya stopped for a moment. The manipulator was dead; her new friend was found. And most of all, everything Larkin had done on this case was nearly undone. His memory suggested this would be his final hurrah, but she wondered on what scale. He had spread his delusions and misconceptions into many different people, truth mixed with lies. A little gift, he had said. She couldn't imagine what people would do with those parasitic memories, and hoped that they would be ignored.

"Are you okay?" Michael now stood in front of her. "You and Terri need to get to Agent Dean."

Blinking hard twice, Freya looked over to the other agent. "He needs us," she whispered.

"Let's go."

-----------------

Okay, so I decided to make this into two chapters. Some hurt/comfort ahead for our woobie, and closure. I promise it won't be two months! No, really!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Hello? I need a doctor." Lev Brodsky wandered away from Brendan's side. The young man seemed to settle into a fitful slumber, but became restless soon after. Lev blamed the fever at first, yet there was something else now.

The commotion had subsided on the other end of the ER, and now things were quieting around them. The nurse Marie drifted slowly over to him. "Hey, Mister Brodsky. I found a room for your friend."

"Is good. I think he will sleep better in the quiet. May I sit with him until another comes?"

Marie frowned in thought. "Well, there's someone to see him now, actually. I think it's his boss."

Brow furrowed, the butcher stepped forward. "You sure? It could be who take him. Found out he escaped?" His Sophia would laugh at him, telling him he watches too many television shows. But he had to be sure. "You check closer? Maybe?" He moved back to the writhing man's side, grabbing a flailing hand. Brendan immediately stilled, mumbling something to his mother.

"Okay, I'll do it, but he looked pretty worried." Marie knew there was a procedure for everything, but it seemed to her, after so many years as a nurse, she could read people pretty well. She left the little man sitting next to the patient in search of answers.

Exiting the triage area, she spotted the tall black man pacing, speaking on his phone. He was forced to leave another message, and this upset him greatly. Marie paused when he directed his intense gaze at her. "Mister Harper?"

"Yes. Can I see Agent Dean?"

_Agent?_ "Certainly. But the… agent's, um, friend, is requesting further information."

Surprise registered on his somewhat stony face. "Really? Well, who is this 'friend'?"

"Lev Brodsky. He found Brendan near his shop."

Harper let out a chuckle. "Tell Mister Brodsky his turkey club with sweet pickles on sourdough is here."

To her surprise, the little Russian man knew exactly who that was.

---------------

The room contained so many memories, Brendan was shocked at the quantity. He closed the door quickly, wondering if this was like Pandora's Box. _I don't think there's any hope left inside, though._ Gathering all of his inner strength, Brendan imagined the memories as pictures, just as he did all the others. This time he used a scrapbook so that he could work quickly. The memories stilled, becoming less pervasive; he picked them up one by one, careful not to linger.

In every photo was a happy little boy, albeit covered in sunblock in almost every one, but happy nonetheless. Brendan assumed it was Keith Larkin. _Why would he give me memories of his childhood? Freya would be better off with this._

Freya...

He had held onto his memory of her for so long, he felt she was no longer real. Setting aside the task of collecting photos, Brendan wandered into the most damaged room. Picking his way around broken glass and smashed debris, he found his memories of Freya.

Somewhere above, he heard voices. Were they arguing? They sounded so familiar. He just needed to open his eyes and see. After some time, Brendan finally found the door leading out. He only had enough energy to open his eyes a fraction. Through dark lashes, he saw Lev speaking animatedly with a taller black man. Both seemed to want information from the nurse.

Suddenly, the rails came up on his bed like prison bars slamming shut. Then he was moving. Panic spread over him like cold water, and he forced his eyes open. The nurse in red saw him and began speaking. He heard sound, but the words were garbled, sending his heart into a flurry of beats. The persistent beeping in his left ear began to drown out everything. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to make everything slow down. His heart, his breathing, his mind; everything raced around him, making him dizzy.

"Brendan? Little one? It is all right! They are taking you to a room, where it is quiet. Sound good?"

Not trusting his voice, the pale man merely nodded. When asked if he would open his eyes, he flatly refused. Tensing, Brendan felt a flood of memories wash over him, some his own, some Larkin's. Their backgrounds weren't at all similar, but there was an instant where they converged. The silver bars of the bed rails triggered an overlapping recollection of an event. They had both broken an arm falling out of a tree. But Brendan had cracked a rib, too, leading to a bout with pneumonia. At twelve years old, he thought he could take a little pain. He remembered it vividly; his mother nearly got in trouble with Child Services for negligence. That brought a slight smile to his face. Paget Dean was furious with her son; Freya would get that same expression sometimes.

The bed finally stopped moving, and he felt himself being lifted out of his warm cocoon of blankets. Brendan shivered as the cool sheets wrapped around him. He offered no resistance as two people flitted around him. Behind closed eyes, he could hear the shuffle of feet, and medical terms spoken in low voices. A thermometer was jammed into his ear again, this time bringing good news. When they stopped poking and prodding, he opened his eyes a fraction.

"Welcome back, Agent Dean," Director Harper said softly.

Brendan sifted through disorganized memories and finally placed the man smiling at him. "Sir? I'll have a report for you–"

The man frowned deeply. "You will do nothing of the sort. You will get better first. Then you will take a vacation. I will accept your report after." Harper was curious to know everything, but it was more important his hardest working agent fully recover. "One question though. Where's Jessica?"

Brendan smiled fondly at the memory of a girl frantically trying to drive in a straight line. Jessica helped him escape; she was so strong and brave. He hoped their paths would cross again so he could thank her. The agent tried to straighten while still lying down. "Well, sir, she got away. Last I saw, she was heading for the boyfriend's office.

"Thanks for letting me know," Harper replied. He came closer, watching the agent curiously. "You've been through a lot, Brendan. Now it's time for you to rest and get better. Keith Larkin will be apprehended soon."

Brendan's eyes lost focus as he remembered the man who violated his mind. Distantly, he heard wheezing and an increasing beeping noise. The edges of his vision darkened just as a plan for Michael Welles' demise slammed into his mind.

Jen leaned over the patient, taking his vitals again. "Brendan? Can you hear me?" The nurse shooed away his visitors as she reached for the phone. "I'm sorry, but you need to leave." _We just got him to calm down, and now this guy sends him back into an agitated state!_ She paged Levinson.

"Wait," Brendan whispered. "Wait, sir. Call Welles. I… I think he's in danger."

Harper found his phone and immediately left the room.

"I'm sorry, Mister Brodsky. As much as I want you to stay…" And she honestly did; the old man had a very calming effect on everyone. Jen could hear Doc Levinson's tantrum now.

The Russian waved his hands. "Da. Yes. I must return home. I am surprised Sophia has not called." He patted a trembling arm. "You will be a good boy. Go to sleep."

"Spasibo, dedushka."

Lev dismissively waved his hand again. "Ach, what am I to do with you." With a final squeeze, he left the room.

Brendan smiled and closed his eyes. His breathing evened out as he calmed his heart. After a moment, he opened them, giving the nurse his best puppy-dog look. "Got anything for a headache?"

The nurse sighed as Levinson entered the room. _Yes. What are we going to do with you?_

------------------

Of all the times Freya had been in hospitals, this was the first time she couldn't wait to get there. She and hospitals didn't get along, and there was always the possibility she would get overwhelmed. But Freya collected every trick she had been taught, and steeled herself, ready for anything. The telepath was tired; Larkin had drained her energy, and the implanted memory strained to get loose. But nothing would stop her from seeing the second most important person in her life.

Merriweather parked the car, and tried to give a reassuring smile. _:He's alive. But is he well? I just killed someone and had no control over it. How is that going to look on my record? What will Harper say? Oh, God. What if –:_

"Terri. It's okay. I'm sure you'll be fine. The director will understand, believe me."

"I know, I know. But I can't help this feeling! I shot and killed an unarmed person! I mean, I remember the gun, and how loud it was when it went off."

"And you acted out of self-defense. No one will argue that." Out of sympathy, Freya grabbed the agent's hand. "Michael will vouch for you, and so will I. You're not alone."

Smiling half-heartedly, Terri glanced at her companion. _:I know, I know. Thanks for the reminder.:_ She spotted the nurses' station ahead, circular and bright. "Let's see what's become of our Brendan."

Freya divided her attention as she followed the agent, keeping the voices at bay while searching for a specific one. When the familiar voice cried out, the telepath moved quickly to the right. "He's this way."

They turned the corner and nearly ran into Director Harper. "Sorry, sir. I –"

"What do you mean, dead?" Harper's voice rose a fraction, only to be shushed by a passing nurse. "She what?"

Merriweather gave an audible gulp. "I can explain, sir –"

The director held up a hand. "Well, at least it's over..."

"_No kidding," _Welles sighed on the other end. _"Agent Merriweather and Freya should be there soon."_

"Yes, they're here. I'll call you back later. Let me know if there's a problem with the removal." The director didn't like the idea of a dead body in his office. He didn't even want to think about tomorrow. Endless meetings and paperwork, the committees and who knew who else. Snapping his phone shut, he gave his best smile to a very pale agent and a pensive telepath. "Brendan's in the next room, but he's really out of it."

Freya nearly missed what he said; chaotic voices were crowding in, overwhelming her senses. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on Harper's voice.

_:What's wrong? She looks tired.:_ "Headache?"

The younger woman smiled awkwardly. "Yeah, but it's not that bad." Freya could hear Brendan trying to organize his thoughts; the planted memories were leaking everywhere. "What happened?"

Images sifted through his mind. Brendan speaking to a little man in Russian; a nurse shooing him away. "The nurse thinks he's having a panic attack," Harper replied with a shrug. :I know there's more to it, right?: "Visiting hours are just about up, so you might want to get in there now."

"Sir, I..." Merriweather struggled to bring her thoughts online.

Harper stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about that tonight. Right now," he jerked his head over his left shoulder. "You've got a friend who needs to see you."

The petite agent nodded sadly, moving past her superior. "See you in the morning, sir."

It wasn't often Jon Harper got personally involved with any of his staff. _:Isolated incident. Right?:_ He tried to give another comforting smile, but it felt wrong on his face. "I'm afraid not, Merriweather," he said, nearly chuckling at the confused look on her face. "No one's coming back to the office until the committee clears it."

Terri's face brightened. _:I will sleep until I have to go to work!:_ "Thanks for letting us know."

Harper nodded to each of them, and flipped open his cell phone again. "Few calls to make, so I will see you later."

They would have responded, however, Freya was already dragging Terri towards the room.

-----------------

"Visiting hours are just about over, Mister Brodsky," Jen said softly, not missing the look of panic on the patient's face. "Don't worry, Brendan. We'll take care of you." She could have sworn she kicked out the little man earlier, yet there he was.

"Well, Mister Dean," Levinson announced. "Looks like that fever is trying to stick around. And your pressure's down a bit more than earlier. How are you feeling right now?"

Brendan glanced at the doctor, weighing his answer. _:Oh, screw it!:_ "Bad headache, kinda cold. Really tired." And achy, and sore, and thirsty... He licked his cracked lips, hoping this was the international sign for 'I'm thirsty.' Closing his eyes against the light, Brendan felt a hand on his cheek.

"You drink, I leave," Lev winked.

Brendan did as he was bade, and drank deeply. He mumbled his thanks, and lay back against the pillows, spent. Vaguely, he felt the doctor fussing around him, murmuring words of encouragement and promises of a decent breakfast in the morning.

A squeak announced the opening door; Brendan's eyes flew open.

She was here! Finally, he could relax. _:Freya! Help me!:_

"Brendan! It's okay!" She came closer to the bed, warily examining the people surrounding her friend. Brendan held out a trembling hand. "I know what he did. Don't worry about that right now, okay?"

_:But they're not my memories! And... they leak.:_ He closed his eyes to concentrate on the memory of a door squeezed into his crowded mind. She saw the raw edges of the door, and the distressed wood. Deep down, she saw he was trying to cope with the leakage, refiling the images in a scrapbook behind a different, stronger door.

"You're doing good, Brendan. Just relax. You're safe."

_:I'm freezing, and these people are standing around like they've never seen anything like me.: _His agitation escalated as people shifted around him.

Lev Brodsky wrapped his arm around Freya. "He will be good now, you are here. I must get back." He looked slightly up into Freya's eyes. "I bring lunch tomorrow, and maybe Sophia. But you know how she gets." Shrugging, he winked again and left.

The nurse escorted the butcher out, and returned with another blanket. "This is all I could dig up for now."

"That fever goes back up, I'm afraid we'll have to take them," Levinson frowned. "Five minutes, it'll be time for everyone to leave, all right? My patient is going to need a lot of rest."

Merriweather grabbed Brendan's free hand._ :His hands are so cold!:_ "I'm putting you on house arrest for a year, Dean!"

"Believe me, I may take you up on that offer," Brendan smiled as his eyes closed. He could sleep now. Even the pervasive memories were settling, as his mind did the same.

"We'll be here, Agent Dean," Merriweather said, her mouth fixed in a crooked smile. "Just call Freya."

The patient's eyes opened fractionally, glancing at the telepath. :She knows?:

Freya gave a huge smile. "Yep! We'll tell you about it later." Her headache receded, along with her concern for her partner. "Now, go to sleep. We'll be outside."

Brendan relaxed, snuggling further into the blankets. As he drifted off, he felt a kiss on either cheek. "Should get lost m'r offen," he said contentedly.

"Good night, Agent Dean," they whispered.

-------------------

They left the room, finding Director Harper on the phone again. "Judge Dean, I'm sorry, I can't answer that right now." He rubbed his temple with his free hand.

"_What do you mean, not right now? Harper, I haven't seen my son in six months! Now you tell me he's been kidnapped and missing for two days?"_

_:I do not want to be here when she gets here!:_ Images of a fiery, chestnut-haired woman named Paget Dean storming through a courthouse even made Freya step back. "He's down here at Howard. You can see him in the morning."

A deep sigh sounded in his ear. _"I'll be on the first flight from New York. When he's ready, I'm taking him home with me."_

Harper smiled. "I'm sure he'd like that," he replied, conjuring up the last meeting his agent had with his mother. Brendan Dean sported red ears for most of the day, and was uncharacteristically quiet. _:God, I hope this is the right decision.:_

Spotting Freya and Terri, he closed his phone. "All right. Who's got first watch?"

---------------------------

_:Freya? Freya?:_

Coming awake slowly, she realized that a single voice called out to her. Rubbing the grogginess from her eyes, she glanced around. Terri was curled up on the shorter couch, Harper paced at the far end of the waiting room, and the nurses' station was nearly deserted. Freya rose, slipping quietly into Brendan's room.

The dimly lit room had one occupied bed. Brendan was sitting up, gazing out the window. The first light of dawn could be seen through the partially open blinds; he was guessing the time. Apparently, he had seen this time of day too often.

"Right on the button, Agent Dean," she whispered.

He closed his eyes and shivered. Images filtered through, revealing memories of a boy and his dog. To her knowledge, Freya didn't think he had a pet when he was young. Stepping quickly to his side, she waited.

"He gave me his childhood. Not sure why, but they overlap with mine. Kinda weird." His voice was without inflection as he picked at the blanket. "But I can deal with it better."

"That's good," Freya replied, trying to draw him out. She wasn't sure how these false memories would effect him or the others, but at least he was coping.

"Yesterday morning, I was escaping a telepathic kidnapper. Three days ago, I was eating a donut at my desk, trying not to fall asleep." Leaning back wearily, he finally looked at her. "One week ago, I made the biggest bust of my career, and I still haven't turned in a written report."

Throwing back the covers, he made to stand, but his partner stopped him. "Sorry, kid. You're going back to sleep. Then, we're having breakfast, and possibly lunch. Mister Brodsky will bring your favorite, and then maybe you can get out of here." Freya bit her lip as she revealed her next bit of news. "And your mom is taking you home."

Brendan froze in place. No thoughts, no memories, nothing. Taking a shuddering breath, he gathered the covers and pulled them over his shoulders. After another breath, he glanced at her. "Why?"

"The director called her. I must say, she's a real spitfire."

_:You don't know the half of it.:_ A shadow of the famous smirk was back.

-------------------------

An hour after juice and toast, Brendan was asleep again. The nurses went about their duties, checking vitals, taking his temperature. His fever had finally come down, but his lungs were slightly congested. Freya absently smoothed away the hair plastered to his forehead. Mumbling in his sleep, he turned into the cool touch.

:He is not going to like having to stay one more day.: Merriweather thought from the other side of the room. "I've only met his mother once, and it wasn't her best day." Thoughts of a courtroom drifted through her mind. Judge Dean and her cruel, cold smile handed out a verdict.

As if on cue, voices were heard in the corridor. Harper and a woman quietly entered the room. There was no mistaking where Brendan got those hazel green eyes and that sideways smirk. She greeted everyone with a nod, then went to her son's side. Stroking back his hair, she planted a kiss on his warm forehead, and pulled the covers up over his shoulders.

"He's so thin. What happened?" Paget Dean's face was expressionless, but she couldn't keep the emotion out of her voice. "Never mind. He'll tell me when he's ready." Shrugging off her coat, she placed it on the chair with graceful care.

"I'm Freya McAllister, Brendan's sorta partner," she said awkwardly. "And this is Agent Terri Merriweather, researcher extraordinaire."

Paget smiled warmly, lighting her eyes. "I've heard a lot about you two. Thanks for looking after my son."

"Are you the Honorable Judge Dean?" Doctor Levinson had suddenly appeared, fidgeting with a chart. _:Is that right? Do I always have to address her this way? Why am I nervous?:_

"Please," the older woman extended her hand, turning on a familiar thousand-watt smile. "Call me Paget."

_:Man, she's good. Brendan is his mother's son.:_ "Come on, Miss McAllister. We should leave them alone."

Harper followed the women out, nodding to the judge. _:I can't believe it's Saturday. Jeanette is going to kill me!:_ Images of snow, a frowning wife, and unfinished projects filled his mind.

"We'll be okay here, Director."

"Actually, you both should take a break and get some sleep. And, if I may be blunt, looks like you could use it."

The women looked at each other then back at Harper. "Guess you're right, sir."

"We'll come back for lunch, okay?"

The tall dark man snorted. "I have to get my sandwich. Of course we'll be back."

-----------------------

"All right, Doc. Level with me. How is he?"

_Straight to the point._ "Well, he's improving. The fever has been stubborn, but I think it's under control. Blood pressure is also improving. He does have some congestion in his lungs, but I'm sure it'll clear up in a day."

Paget frowned, taking in all the information. "When can I take him home?"

Now the doctor frowned. "Most likely tomorrow. We're just keeping an eye on him for now."

Long fingers fidgeted with a delicate necklace. "Well, he's not going to like that."

"Like what?" a raspy voice asked from below.

"Hey, baby. You're awake." Paget softened her voice as she leaned over the bed.

Blinking away the fuzziness, Brendan focused on the faces above him. "Mom? What're... why are you here?" For a minute, he thought the whole conversation with Freya had been a dream. But there she was in the flesh. "You don't have to stay; I can take care of –"

"Quiet. I'm here and that's final," she responded sternly. Giving a wink, she turned back to the doctor. "Anything else I should know?"

"Well, we were concerned about his weight."

The judge snorted derisively. "He's been through a traumatic event, I'm sure –"

"Sorry, Mrs. Dean. This is something that happened before his kidnapping." Levinson audibly gulped as she nailed him with a look. "I'd say it's stress related, so–"

"Hey!" Brendan interrupted. "Look, it's been a rough couple weeks, but I'll be fine." He ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't shake the lethargy, so he settled back on the pillows. Listening to his mother and the doctor argue over him, he closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was asleep again, thankful his headache had dulled enough to sleep better.

Paget noticed her son drop off to sleep. "Fine, fine. We'll talk about this later, Scout." She pulled the covers over him again, sighing. "He'll be the death of me."

"I think with a few weeks off, he'll get back to normal, maybe resume his eating habits."

"That's the thing, Doc. He's always been scrawny, no matter what. But the last time I saw him he wasn't this bad."

The doctor frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I'm sure he'll improve over the next few days."

"I'll make sure of it, Doc."

---------------------

The next time Brendan woke, he heard tinny voices. The news was on, showing Senator Bennett on the steps of City Hall. "My family and I would like to thank all those involved with the search and rescue of my daughter. Without your help, Jessica would not be here today. Thank you again." Bennett pulled his daughter into a hug, and gave his best wave.

"She didn't need anyone's help." Brendan was surprised at how dry his throat had become. "Jessica made it just fine without me."

Paget filled a cup with water. "What do you mean?"

After a few sips, the agent smiled sadly. "She saved me. Outsmarted the bad guy, and stole his car. I didn't know which way was up, and left without finding out if she was okay. Wandered into Mister Brodsky's alley. Even he saved me."

His mother placed the cup on the bedside table, then took his hands. "The point is, you made it back to me. You have to let people in, Scout. Don't be like me, kiddo, and you'll do just fine."

"No?" His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Then he smiled. "Did you see Doc Levinson? How do you make people so nervous?"

Paget Dean gave the infamous lopsided grin. "It's an art, kid."

They sat and talked, catching up on six months' worth of news.

--------------------

When Freya and Terri returned, they found mother and son laughing, sharing stories. The telepath let her mind touch Brendan's briefly. He seemed to be coping well with the flashes of memories, and chances were he wouldn't tell his mother all of what happened.

"Freya! Come on in, pull up a gurney," he grinned.

She thought back, trying to recall when she had ever seen the dimple that came with the huge smile. He still looked tired, but Freya knew everything would get better.

Lev Brodsky came bursting into the room leaden with bags. His wife had come along, too, holding drinks.

"Lunch, my little one. And you will eat what you can." Sophia kissed him on the cheek, and voiced her concern in broken English. Brendan responded in Russian, and his mother looked surprised. _:He just picks up so many things!:_

"Hey, Brendan. How do you feel now?"

_:Tired. Good.:_ "Just fine. And starving."

"Take it slow, baby. These are new shoes," Paget winked at her son. Memories of all the times he had puked on her shoes flitted across her mind.

"Mom," Brendan whined. "Don't call me baby!"

-------------------------

The End. For now.

Jeez! It's been a year! I'd like to thank EVERYONE who has supported this labor of love of mine. Hope you enjoyed it, and please tell me what you think. There will be a sequel, called Legacy, in which Brendan stays a week with his mom. Could be fun! A little drama, a little angst, a little h/c...

I've seriously learned my lesson with this one, and will definitely write shorter fics. This was hard!

So thanks again, and I will return soon!


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